


The Children of Hogwarts

by suitesamba



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Family, M/M, Romance, Sound of Music, Sound of Music AU, snarry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2020-03-09 10:43:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18915337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suitesamba/pseuds/suitesamba
Summary: A decade after the Wizarding world was outed, secret wizarding clans struggle to stay under cover to avoid having to register with the Muggle government, whose intent is to assimilate the wizards into the Muggle world. While Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley are now Muggle playgrounds, Hogwarts remains undetected, though impenetrable even by wizards who protect it. In this unimaginable environment, Severus Snape is sent to the Seeker Clan, hiding out in Cokeworth, to help its leader Harry Potter learn to better control the children's errant magic. While the two butt heads on nearly everything, will Harry eventually see that Severus' unconventional ideas about raising magical children in after-Discovery Britain are solid or will he be distracted by an unexpected opportunity in the guise of a former Slytherin rival?





	1. In the Safe House

**Author's Note:**

> A friend started to write a Snarry Sound of Music take-off years ago, but abandoned the idea, and passed it along to me. I've had it on the back burner for several years, but finally have my head around it and wheels to the pavement so here we go. I haven't written a Snarry except for a fest in some time, but the time felt right.
> 
> Be patient, the background details about "Discovery" will unfold over time. The Muggle world is not meant to be a fascist empire, but it iis fearful of what it doesn't understand, and of course wants all citizens to participate in the economy and society and educational institutions. And of course there's the matter of those wands, which it views as weapons....

Chapter 1: The Safe House

Some days, Severus Snape could barely muster the energy to erase his footprints in the snow.

There were too few of their clan to patrol an area this large, too few to try to keep Hogwarts invisible for another day, another month. Another year. Powerful they each might be in his or her own right, and even more powerful together, but the task was large, the threat from without larger still.

He ducked inside the barrier, shaking the snow off his cloak, and made his way to the safe house, one of Albus’ last and greatest gifts to the Order of the Phoenix. 

Only now, the safe house protected the Protectors. Powerful witches and wizards willing to devote everything, every ounce of their energy, every second of their time, to keeping the magical enchantments protecting Hogwarts in place and to working around the clock to keep it out of the hands of the new Magical Properties arm of the Muggle Ministry.

The Ministry of Magic itself was no more. The source of the dissention, the misplaced trust, it had crumbled soon after discovery, splitting into a small faction that transitioned over to the Muggle government and a much larger faction that went underground, quickly breaking apart into working groups bent on protection and survival. Working groups small enough, agile enough, to strike and disperse quickly, to disappear and avoid detection.

“Severus – good. Come in and warm up – I’ve something to discuss with you.”

Snape hung his cape in the vestibule and turned to face Minerva McGonagall. She was their de facto leader, the heart of their clan, as strong and determined mentally as she was physically feeble.

The years since discovery had not been kind to her. Had not been kind to any of them. Winters were particularly hard, and the winter weather had taken an arctic turn these last few years. 

He followed her through a narrow corridor, closing his eyes as they navigated the three quick ninety-degree turns with the reverse enchantments. Accustomed as he was to it, he still hated the feeling that he was walking on the ceiling. He opened his eyes as soon as they stepped out of the enchantment vector, and ignored the three doors with bright brass handles. Instead, he leaned against a portrait and passed into the tiny antechamber to the first of a half dozen secret meeting rooms inside this already secret house.

Minerva, bent forward over her three-footed cane, paused before a plain paneled wall and said “We need a place to discuss the Seeker Clan.”

An ornate door appeared with a handle dead center, but it was Minerva’s words, not the appearance of the door, that made Severus tense up. He followed her through the door, slid into one of the four chairs around the small table, and waited silently, on edge, while she sat, adjusted her glasses and leaned back, studying him silently.

“You need more sleep, Severus.”

He shrugged. He could argue, but what was the point? She was right – he did need more sleep. 

She sighed and pursed her lips, looking through him as she gathered her thoughts.

“You’ve spoken with Potter, then?” he asked, impatient as the silence lengthened. 

She nodded distractedly. “Harry was here today – earlier. You were on patrol.”

The discomfiture he’d felt since hearing her speak the name of Potter’s clan increased. The clan leaders seldom made direct contact. That Potter had come here – this close to Hogsmeade – told him that something major was afoot. Like all the others here, he knew Potter was a clan leader, knew the basics about his life, but hadn’t set eyes on the man in a decade.

“What the – ” He paused, reconsidered the expletive he’d been about to utter and held his tongue. Minerva doted on Potter as she always had, and he wouldn’t risk offending his friend and mentor. He folded his hands on the table and focused again on Minerva. “Why did Potter come in person instead of using the usual channels?” he asked.

She looked at him as if to say _Think!_ and he frowned as he understood.

“He didn’t want his next-in-command to know,” he said. “But Granger and Weasley – surely….”

Minerva held up a hand, shaking her head. “He wants to send the children here,” she said. 

“No.” Snape’s fisted his hands but managed to refrain from pounding them on the table. 

“I believe that would be my decision, not yours,” Minerva stated, her voice level as she eyed him over her spectacles. “Though I do agree with you and told him the same. However….”

She paused, removed her glasses, and folded them on the table beside her, gazing across at him with clear blue eyes pale with age. 

“Stop drawing this out – please,” he all but begged. “Just tell me what you want from me.”

What Minerva told him was not what he wanted to hear.

“You need to go to the Seeker clan, Severus. They need you – rather desperately – and we’ve kept you here to ourselves too long already.”

It was a scolding, a reproach, but a gentle one. They’d have let him go had he made the request. His skills as a Potions Master were needed elsewhere, but his value as a powerful wizard and a spy guaranteed him a place here. He schooled his features, forcing down the panic. He hadn’t been outside of Hogwarts and the Forbidden Forest in fourteen years.

“Severus?” Minerva reached across the table and placed her hand atop his. “Hear me out – please. I know this is difficult.”

“Difficult?” He laughed, though there was no humor in the sound that escaped his damaged throat. He coughed, cursing the scarring that had left him with only half a voice. “I know nothing of Potter and his clan – nothing but the name. I don’t even know where they _are_ , Minerva, or what they do. I can’t – I cannot _leave_.”

His fingers were white beneath hers, and she placed a second hand atop his.

“Listen – hear me out, as I asked, and I will consider your wishes at that time.”

She crooked a finger, and a tea tray lifted off a small corner desk and spun its way over to them. He gaped at the act. Even here, behind wards so strong they endured after Albus’ death, they thought about each act of magic before casually flicking a wand, and performed as few as possible. 

“Minerva – I hardly think this occasion warrants the use of – ” 

“Shhh.” She poured then placed a cup at his elbow. “We are English, Severus. Sometimes we cannot wait for our tea.”

He sipped his. He didn’t remember the last time he’d had tea like this – the perfect temperature, the perfect strength. He supposed he was just imagining it, but allowed himself the luxury.

“They cannot detect magic they cannot see,” Minerva said. She nearly whispered, as if speaking the words aloud might somehow negate them. “We are just being cautious – we can allow ourselves an occasional treat.”

Hearing her words, no matter that he trusted her as he trusted no one else, did not ease his worry. “Tell me about Potter – about this clan of his. Where they are. Who’s with him. Why they need me.” Severus looked over his cup at Minerva, prepared to listen. He looked suspiciously at his cup then, and Minerva laughed.

“No, Severus. There is nothing in the tea except for echinacea. It’s soothing your throat and putting you in a marginally better mood.”

Severus sighed. She was right, but he didn’t like admitting it.

“Talk, Minerva.”

“You know I can’t tell you where they are or who is with him,” Minerva said. “You know the clan’s name already, and that Potter is its leader. That much all of us here can know. You guess at his second-in-command, but I can’t verify that yet, either. To know more, you must be bound to the clan.”

“Then tell me why they need me,” he insisted. The thought of being marked, yet again, was off-putting despite its necessity.

Minerva pursed her lips, considering. “The children,” she said at last. She spoke carefully, cautious lest the spell which bound her to each of the clans react to the information she shared. “There are problems with the children.”

Severus stared at her in confusion.

“There are problems with the children you believe _I_ can resolve?” he asked. He threw his hands in the air. “You ask the wrong person, Minerva, as you well know. I am certainly not equipped to solve problems with children, least of all _Potter’s_ children!”

“Oh – but you are, Severus.” She leaned back in her chair and regarded him steadily. He toyed with his teacup, refusing to meet her eye. 

“Severus, you know I wouldn’t ask this of you unless it were important – very important.”

He swung his gaze upward at last, away from his potion-stained fingers. “You favor him, Minerva. You always have. Even more so than the rest of the Gryffindors. Even now – even now when houses mean _nothing_. When it is more dangerous to move about the Muggle world than it has ever been. When we dare not even utter the name of one of our founders outside of the strongest of Fideliuses. I am needed here, Minerva. There are too few of us as it is.”

His voice lost volume the longer he spoke, and he cleared his throat and took a swallow of tea, settling the cup shakily in its saucer and glaring at his friend.

“Yes. You’re needed here, Severus. We all are. But you are needed more there. Not forever – just until you are able to assess the situation and help resolve it. That’s all I can say now. If you agree to try – if only for two weeks – I can bind you, and I can lift the binding when you return, if you would like.”

“If I would like?” He stared at her, incredulous. “Of course I would _like_.”

Minerva sighed, but the look in her eyes was as fond as it was frustrated. “You’ll go, then? You’ll try to help them?”

“You know I can’t refuse you,” he nearly spat out. He turned over his wrist, the mere act indicating that he, too, was bound to a clan, to do what it required of him. “But you’ll need to cover my watches while I’m gone. The loch is particularly resistant to the Muggle repelling charms. We’ll soon be having squid for dinner if that beast doesn’t begin to behave himself and stay down out of sight.”

“Then we shall have a feast when you return,” she said. She held out a hand. “Are you ready?”

“Will you at least tell me who besides Potter is in this clan?”

She shook her head. “I can’t Severus – you know that. But you know how the clans were formed. There will be members you expect, and some you don’t. But every single witch and wizard has the same goal as you do, Severus – to get back inside Hogwarts. To bring our children home. There are no enemies among our clans. Now please, give me your hand.”

He hesitated only a moment more, out of habit more than true reluctance, but finally, with another sign, extended his right hand. She cupped both of her own around his. There was power there still, in those aged, feeble hands, power he could feel like a vein of liquid sunlight warming his wrist, his elbow, his bicep. Her eyes were closed, her face serene. He could almost see through her papery thin eyelids. When had she grown so old? So careworn?

He felt the brand take form, a pinpoint of fire on his palm just below his thumb and when Minerva squeezed his hand and released it, he immediately turned it over, watching the tiny emblem – a Snitch, of _course_ it would be a Snitch, fade from angry red to pale white to nothing, nothing at all.

Merlin he hated brands, but as brands went, this one, at least, would remain invisible forever, never to be seen again unless Minerva, or her successor, elected to undo the binding, and then, only briefly.

He would know now, every time he met another branded, when they shook hands, that he was in the presence of another like him. And he would know his own clan members at the first touch of fingers. It was a deceptively simple plan, so very Muggle-like in nature, to greet with an outstretched hand and in so-doing know the magical status anyone encountered.

“Harry is in Cokeworth,” Minerva said without preamble as Snape continued to stare at his hand. “The clan has apartments in a converted factory building near the river.”

“Cokeworth!” he spat, looking at her as if she’d just told him she was expecting triplets in the spring. “Cokeworth is hardly hidden, Minerva! And it’s full of people – and not the sort who would have an academic interest in magic! It is dirty place – polluted and crime-ridden. Why would Potter choose to locate his clan in Cokeworth? It is miserable there – for Muggles and Wizards alike. There are far more appropriate places for a wizard to hide.”

Minerva stayed silent while Severus ranted, pleased enough that they’d got this far – that he’d agreed to the binding, that she was free to tell him more. 

“You hate the place so much, Severus?” she asked. “Your childhood home? Lily’s?”

He didn’t want to speak of it – of that hovel at Spinner’s End. 

“Severus – it is not the rich or the powerful among us that need the protection the clans offer. It is the weak, the vulnerable. And those are the ones Harry seeks to protect. Those gifted with magic but who struggle to use it. Those without families to support them. Those who are most likely to falter if suspected, if questioned by the Ministry of Equality.” She paused as a look of horrified comprehension passed over his face, and lowered her voice. “It’s easier in Cokeworth, Severus. The British government overlooks it – in this, as in all things. In staying hidden all these years, you’ve been removed from life as most magical families in Britain have known it this past decade.”

“I understand,” he growled out. “I am no village idiot, Minerva. I see. I observe. I read the same sources you do. I see what has become of Hogsmeade. It is akin to the Native Americans, or the remote peoples of the Amazon, or even some tribes in Africa. They become caricatures of what they really are as they struggle to survive, to preserve their ways against the onslaught of humanity who ogle them from caravan windows.”

She looked away, pained, as always, when forced to think about Hogsmeade. About Diagon Alley. She eyed the tea tray, picked up a triangular piece of shortbread, and regarded it without interest before placing it on her saucer with a sigh.

“See Filius for the currency and documents you’ll need, and I’ll ask Kingsley to find you something appropriate to wear. You’ll have to Apparate down – several jumps, I suggest – you don’t want to walk into Hogsmeade and buy a train ticket – strangers don’t just walk into Hogsmeade unless they arrive there first by train, though the automobile thoroughfare may be finished within a year, Merlin help us. Poppy has a list of safe-houses you can use for brief recalibration stops. You know you cannot be seen Apparating by a Muggle.” She gave a sad sort of smile, and looked at him almost fondly. “I know it’s been a long while since you’ve undertaken such a long journey, Severus – and times have changed. Muggles won’t think they’re imagining things if they see someone pop into existence out of nowhere. If you are seen, you are likely to be reported. And if you are found to not be registered….”

“I will not be seen,” Severus stated flatly. “When does Potter expect me to arrive?”

She laughed though there was no humour in the sound. “He fully expects you to refuse, Severus. He is not _expecting_ you at all.


	2. Cokeworth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was mostly done when I posted Chapter 1 - weekly chapters will be more the norm from here on out.

Cokeworth was much as he remembered it from the summer before he took up the Headmaster post at Hogwarts.

Bleak.

It was a fitting reintroduction to the world to send him back to his childhood home where virtually nothing appeared to have changed. No matter that the magical world was no longer a secret enclave in the middle of Muggle civilisation – walking down a grimy street in Cokeworth was exactly how he remembered it. Déjà vu, right down to the ill-fitting, out of date clothing Kingsley had handed him with an amused “It will have to do. Found it in an old travel bag behind Hogsmeade Station.” But the shirt sleeves were a bit too short, the trousers loose, though at least long enough, and the overcoat the ugliest colour of green he’d ever seen, though Kingsley suggested it was brown greening up for spring.

Sometimes, Kingsley’s optimism pained him.

He found it all too easy to slip back into the dismal attitude he’d worn as a teenager here, and later, as a tormented adult. Minerva was a brilliant leader, he thought. Cokeworth was perhaps the only place he would feel comfortable in this world outside of Hogwarts and its immediate environs. He fit here, as dismal and bleak, as grey and stark, as the factory buildings that lined the river.

He had no trouble finding the address Minerva had provided him, his inner compass already finely tuned here. He made his way into the plain, brick-walled building he’d stood in front of countless times as a child, waiting for his father to come out and fetch the lunchbox he’d left behind at home in his usual morning rush. The irony was nearly overwhelming – Harry Potter, one-time boy hero, was living in his father’s prison, in the very factory that had provided the meager wages on which they’d eked out a living. 

The building was as bleak inside as out. Dusty bannisters, shadowy stairways, worn carpet, a weak light that flickered over the landing. Nothing here – nothing at all – spoke magic. He moved resolutely to the stairway, lurking at the end of a quiet corridor, and climbed slowly. Footsteps pounded above him, and he pressed against the wall as three children ran down past him, not sparing him even a glance. Muggles all – no clan leader worth his or her salt would allow wizarding children such freedom of movement.

He thought briefly of Hogwarts, of chaotic mornings when the Great Hall emptied after breakfast, of the snow-covered grounds alive with children at play on a Saturday morning. He’d been all too happy to leave it behind those first years after the war, before Discovery, yet found that he missed it now, and mourned the loss. 

Third floor up – no lift in this ancient building cheaply retrofitted with low-rent apartments. 316 – end of the corridor, plain wooden door with a clouded peephole and the number six hanging slightly askew. He stopped and composed himself and set his face in something between a scowl and a grimace.

Potter. He hadn’t seen Harry Potter in at least a dozen years. He tried to suppress the image of Potter barely out of his teens, standing silently beside him on the Astronomy Tower surveying the rebuilding, of the feeling in his gut when he told Potter no.

He focused on the door, then used one knuckle to rap three times.

He was neither late nor early – but precisely on time. He heard footsteps, then the creak of someone leaning against the door and peering out the peephole. Trappings of normalcy – a wizard would not need to peer through a hole in the door. There was a soft clink as the chain slid out of the lock, and the door cracked open. 

Without invitation, Severus stepped forward, easing the door open with his shoulder even as the man behind it moved out of the way. He slipped quickly inside, closing the door softly behind him.

The apartment was just as dim as the corridor, but Severus immediately knew that it was Harry Potter himself who’d let him in. He stood still, alert, as Potter calmly met his eyes and reached out his hand. 

Severus held out his in turn.

When their hands met, and their fingers grasped the other’s, the immediate warmth at the point of the brand quickly extended up his arm, to his elbow. They dropped hands quickly, and Harry turned without a word of greeting and immediately walked to a door across the small vestibule.

“The middle door,” he murmured. “Wait a few seconds.”

Accustomed to over-the-top caution even when there was no indication of danger, Severus stopped and watched Potter open the cheap, poorly-hung door and step through, then close it behind him. He counted to five slowly, then opened the door Potter had just used and stepped into a narrow corridor. A small kitchen, narrow and dark and not nearly large enough for a family of four, opened up to his right. There were three more doors in the corridor, all of them closed. He moved to the middle one, placed his hand on the knob, felt an immediate tingle and found himself on the other side of the door, facing a room far too large to be contained within the building’s walls, yet more austere and plain than any wizarding residence ought to be. Besides Harry, there were a dozen other people in the room, most of them children, who Snape might have mistaken for the Muggle children on the stairway - hair unkempt, clothing worn – all but for their alarmingly dull-eyed expressions.

Everyone gathered there stared at him, though no one spoke. They’d been expecting him, but the adults seemed somewhat shocked to actually see him. He recognized Neville Longbottom among the adults, and one of the Weasley brothers. He managed not to gape at Andromeda Tonks – at first glance, she looked uncomfortably like her sister Bellatriix. 

More at ease now in the safety of the sanctuary, Harry turned to Snape with a tired smile.

“Snape - Andromeda Tonks, Neville Longbottom and Ron Weasley – their kids are all here too, plus a few of the others’ – we try to keep the kids together while the adults are at work – it’s safer that way.” He quickly introduced the children – such unimaginative names, thought Snape, as he nodded briefly to each – to the defiant James, the listless Hugo, the terrified Frankie, the somber-eyed Lily. He had little difficulty identifying the parentage of any of them – their names alone told their story.

“We’ll leave you here with them for a bit, then,” Harry said. “Thirty minutes should do to give you an idea.”

“An idea?” Severus pinned Harry with a dark-eyed stare. “An idea of _what_ , may I ask?”

Harry lowered his voice and half-turned, facing away from the children. “I know Minerva’s told you already. Why I came to her.”

“And I’ll tell you what I told her – I know nothing about children. If you need a caregiver – ”

“We need a way to suppress their magic!” hissed Harry. “They need to be able to go outside, to go out in public without the risk of accidentally Apparating to a rooftop or opening a locked door or setting the monkeys free at the zoo!”

Severus stared at Harry, not daring to speak, not in front of the children.

“You and I will talk privately,” he stated. “ _Then_ you will leave me alone with the children.”

“Da – I don’t want to stay here with Mr. Snape.” Frankie’s very small voice carried easily across the room. He added in even a smaller voice, “His coat is so ugly, da.”

One of the other children sniggered, and received an elbow in his ribs for it.

“It’s fine – you can sit with me, Frankie.” The oldest child – a teenager hardly a child anymore – held out his arms and the child crawled into his lap.

“Thank-you, Teddy,” Harry said with a grateful nod. “Now, Teddy’s going to lead a game of Duck, Duck, Goose while Mr. Snape and I chat.”

“When I was little, we called this one “Crup, Crup, Kneazel,” Teddy said with a sigh as he settled into the circle, placing Frankie at his side. Not one of the children looked excited about the game, yet all dutifully formed a circle, cross-legged on the floor.

“What’s a crup?” asked the boy with Lily’s eyes as Severus and Harry walked toward the corridor.

Severus felt like he’d been doused with cold water.

He’d grown up in a Muggle house with a Muggle father only a few blocks from their present location. But he’d always - always – known about crups. There’d been bedtime stories, and battered old books from his mother’s childhood, and pieces of sayings. _You can’t teach an old crup new tricks_.

Beside him, Harry had turned.

“Teddy,” he said, his voice a warning.

The boy’s face fell. 

“Sorry, Uncle Harry,” he murmured, his face flushing.

Harry stared at the boy sternly, the warning now in his eyes. But Teddy didn’t look up again, and finally Harry turned. Without looking over at Severus, he led the way out of the room, down the corridor, and through a fourth door that decidedly wasn’t there before. It opened into a small office, not much bigger than a hidey hole.

“Crups, Potter? Crups?” Severus reeled on Harry as soon as the door closed. “How – how can they not know about _crups_? They are magical children – a crup is the most basic of magical creatures, a – ”

Harry’s face had taken on an expression of incredulity. He stared at Severus, top to bottom. “Can you take off the coat, at least?” he asked. “I can’t take you seriously in that thing.”

Snape shrugged out of the abomination, held it out to the side and dropped it carelessly to the ground.

“All better?” he asked, rather pleasantly considering how very out of his element he was and how very unpleasant Potter was acting. 

Harry shrugged. “Better, anyway,” he said. He bent to pick up the coat, then tossed it over a chair with a sigh.

“Where have you _been_?” he asked, facing Snape again. “They have _lists_ , Severus. Lists! Full of words that aren’t normally spoken by Muggle children. Like Muggle! And crup, and kneazel, and gobstones.” He dropped into a chair and motioned to another. “The children can’t be unsupervised outside for even a moment, Snape. They can’t even be seen during school hours– they’d be forced to go to a Muggle school and we’d be outed. And once you’re outed, it’s over, Snape. Wands are regulated like firearms, and wizards who’ve been outed, or who’ve willingly registered, can be forced to use their magic to whatever ends the current Ministry dictates. Public service my arse! They’ve got a virtual circus touring the country now, and they force compliance by taking the children – caring for them, they say. But we all know what it really is. They fly the British flag and talk the talk but they want magical ability to be like talent for football. An extra-curricular, with restrictions they don’t even understand – not a way of life.”

His voice waivered, and Severus wisely stayed silent as Harry sank into a chair, rubbing his eyes. He knew this. They had double agents of sorts, inside the all-British Quidditch Association, and the Camelot Dueling Club. Brave souls who gave up their own freedom to help get it back for their wizarding friends and family. He knew life on the outside was fraught with the constant danger of exposure. But Merlin – these were _wizards_ \- with a natural leg up from the start. How had they gone from owning the world, from the jubilation of Voldemort’s final defeat, to _this_? Who would have ever guessed that the next threat to their existence would not have been an evil, dark wizard?

“Look, Snape,” Harry said at last after a long and uncomfortable silence where he sat with his eyes closed. “I thought it would be over by now – that we’d have figured out how to secure Hogwarts, and Hogsmeade, and maybe even the Ministry. I want my kids to know magic, but more than that, I want them to grow up. To be safe. To be here, with me, and not in some prison masquerading as a school where they’re observed like rats in a maze and subjected to a barrage of intelligence and DNA tests. And honestly, Snape, I’d rather take their magic away for good than have that happen.”

He sounded deadly serious and absolutely sincere.

“I cannot pretend to understand fully,” Snape said at last, when it was obvious that Harry had said his piece. “I’m not a father, and I’ve spent these last years rather – removed.”

“Sheltered,” corrected Harry. Was that resentment Snape heard in his voice? “You’re in one of Dumbledore’s safe houses. Nothing can touch you.”

His instinct was to protest what he knew to be an absolute falsehood. He wasn’t accustomed to this – to dealing with the world outside his enclave. To interacting with people other than the other protectors. And he’d never had anything but a confrontational relationship with Harry Potter, even in the year following the battle that both had spent at Hogwarts.

He hadn’t been in the same room as a child in years. Hadn’t seen Harry Potter in more than ten.

He was uncomfortable, but he knew how to regain control. He had little difficulty, when he put his back into it, in channeling the Severus Snape Potter remembered.

“I am not here to hear your sob story, Potter. We are all affected, and none of us more important than the other.”

“Rubbish.”

Snape glared at him. “Do you want my help or not? I see no reason to stay here and suffer your verbal abuse when I am needed just as much elsewhere.”

“Hogwarts has been sealed up for nearly ten years,” Harry reminded him coldly. “The magic of the founders – and of _your team_ \- has held. Muggles haven’t gotten in, or even close. So why haven’t you been able to get in? Why aren’t we using Hogwarts as our stronghold? Merlin, Snape – it has an infirmary. Nearly a fully-equipped hospital. The house elf supply channels – if they’re still intact – would cover all of our supply needs and with the Goblins gone underground, we’d have some access to what’s left in our vaults. And we’d have access to old magic, Snape. Maybe even a way to channel the founders.” He shook his head as if to clear all these unleashed hopes and dreams, and Snape quietly replied.

“When you came to see Minerva, did you unleash this same tirade on her?”

Harry blinked and stared at him, and Severus watched the anger fade from his face. Under the anger and frustration which must live in him just under the surface, Potter looked tired, and resigned.

“Not this time,” he admitted. “But I meet with Minerva from time to time. She already knows how I feel.”

“Let me make this clear now,” Snape began, looking at Harry as coldly as he could. “I am here only because Minerva McGonagall, my own clan leader, requested that I come. I have taken your brand, Potter, and that is no small thing. I will help as I can, but I will need time. Time with the children to assess the problem. To –”

“The problem is that they can’t control their magic and don’t have a chance in hell of a normal life.” Potter left no doubt that he wasn’t about to suffer through a study when he already knew what was needed. He dropped his head down onto his hands, the gesture of man near defeat, rallying himself for what was coming. Severus allowed him the time to gather himself together, and when he spoke again, raising his head and meeting Severus’ eye, he looked almost desperate. “Look – I don’t know what Minerva told you, so this might be news to you, but you’ve just met nearly every capable wizard we have. Seeker Clan has the leftovers, Snape. Some injured, some who hardly qualify as wizards on a good day. I’ve got a Squib with seven-year old twins, both magical. An elderly wizard who lost a leg and half his memory in the final battle. A couple young wizards who can barely top Crabbe and Goyle on a good day. And to balance out the Squib with magical twins, I have a blind wizard and his Squib sisters – and one of them is deaf. Do you see, now? Just keeping the adults safe and providing for them takes constant vigilance. And the children, as they are, need more – more than I can give them now.”

“As they are?” Snape repeated. “You mean as young witches and wizards prone to occasional bouts of accidental magic?”

Harry stared at him, clearly frustrated still. “Yes. Exactly. That’s exactly what I mean. You make it sound like it’s _nothing_ Snape. But you’ve not walked across the park holding to magical children by the hand just as a dog starts to chase a squirrel. And you can feel you child flinch, and root for that squirrel, and maybe – just maybe -send that squirrel flying to safety up a tree. And I have it on good authority there are potions to block a person’s magic. Don’t deny it – you know there are.”

Snape bristled, but refrained from pouncing. “I’m denying nothing. But I need not tell you that the existence of a potion does not make it the best choice, or even the most obvious solution. The potion in question must be administered daily, is not foolproof, has a short shelf-life, and its long-term use is not recommended. It’s effects on children aren’t well-documented as it’s been used mainly on prisoners and on the very ill or erratic.”

For a moment, Potter seemed to wilt before him. His shoulders dropped and he rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses, pushing his spectacles up so that his scar was oddly distorted behind a lens. Severus waited. Clearly, Potter had not expected Snape to shoot down his solution in the first minutes of his visit. But finally, Potter gathered himself together. He was the perfect picture of a strong man facing defeat, a powerful man weakened by circumstance. 

“Are there other potions that might have a similar effect?” he asked, dropping into a chair and gesturing toward another for Snape in an upside-down show of hospitality.

Snape shook his head. “There are a few known variants, but nothing proven safer, or more effective.”

“Alright.” Harry took a bracing breath. “And besides potions - ?”

“You already know,” Snape stated, eyes steady on Harry’s. “If wards and containment fields could give you what you need, you’d be using them already. You’ve already tried them.”

“Bill tried. He has young children too.” Harry admitted. “Wards recognize intent. Like Hogwarts’ Anti-Apparition wards. But they’re basically ineffective in preventing accidental outbursts, though they can contain the effects. Accidental magic has no conscious intent.”

Severus gave a slight nod. He’d taken the seat Harry had indicated, but did not allow himself to relax. There was absolutely nothing about this conversation that was going to put either of them at ease.

“We can’t keep living like this,” Harry said. “I’ve got to find a safe place for the children, even if it means we all abandon Britain.”

As some others had already done, Severus noted to himself. Several groups had rooted out islands with fresh water and enough other resources for survival.

“You’ve discussed what – three ideas? – with me and you’re ready to give up?” Snape scoffed. “Your mistake, Mr. Potter, is assuming that the only answer is to suppress the children’s magic.”

Harry laughed. Gave an honest to goodness guffaw and sat there, shoulders shaking, far longer than an ordinary wizard might have reacted to such a suggestion.

“You’re insane, Snape,” he managed at last. “No – actually – I’m the insane one for thinking you could help us. You’ve been cooped up so long there that you’ve forgotten what little you ever knew about magical children.” He stood up and looked at Snape as if he expected him to do the same. “Go back to Minerva, Snape, and tell her thanks but no thanks. We’ll find someone else. I’ll ask Minerva to reverse the clan binding spell so you don’t have to worry about us any longer.”

But Severus remained seated. He looked at Harry expectantly, then motioned to the chair he’d just vacated and waited while Harry settled cautiously back in it

“Mr. Potter, I did not come all this way to give up before I even started. While I realise it is difficult to trust anyone, allow me to assess the children – alone.”

Potter was already shaking his head. “You can’t help us. You admitted as much.” He caught Snape’s eye. Perhaps he saw something there, or perhaps he was just a good judge of human nature. “You just want to make a good show of it or she’ll send you right back here.”

Potter was right. Merlin help him. He was practically begging for a chance to stay here after being given the perfect opportunity to reverse course and head directly back home. _Even though Minerva will stare me down and send me right back like an errant school boy._

He ignored the taunt. “I admitted no such thing. I don’t know yet whether I can help you. But I do know this - you, Mr. Potter, are too emotionally attached to the problem to see it clearly. I am not.”

They stared at each other, neither backing down, until Harry suddenly stood and walked to the door. “Thirty minutes, Snape,” he said. “Then we come back in. You’ll need to stick round until Hermione gets back, then you can give your report and leave.”

“Or not,” Snape replied.

Harry blinked. Something crossed his face Snape couldn’t quite read. Challenge accepted?

“Or not,” he agreed.

It was first victory, and a small one, but Severus counted it nonetheless.


	3. The Children Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus meets the children, and someone quite unexpected.

Chapter 3: The Children Talk

 

Thirty minutes was not nearly enough time to learn all he wanted to learn, but was certainly enough time to determine if he had even half a chance of leading this ragtag group away from inevitable implosion and consequent assimilation.

He began at the beginning. He shook each child’s hand to establish his clan connection, treating each of them as he would an adult, and looking at each one seriously as he made the circle. Children, he told himself, were adults-in-the-making. Magical children were small, untrained witches and wizards. He’d used this mantra of sorts at Hogwarts on his most difficult days in the classroom. Oddly, it was evident that these children were just as fearful as the first years trembling in their seats in the Potions classroom but not necessarily afraid of _him_.

True. He was an unknown to them. While his name may be familiar to some, they didn’t come here today cowering in fear because their older siblings and house mates had told them horror stories about Snape the slimy dungeon bat. Severus bore their clan mark and thus they trusted him. Even the timid Frankie Longbottom had settled after the handshake, squashed between the Lupin boy and the Potter girl. 

But still, they were wary. 

They made an even ten, sitting cross-legged on the floor before him. They were dressed in Muggle clothing, but not the sort that Muggle-born first years at Hogwarts had worn. wore. No football stars or Disney princesses or cartoon characters on the plain, solid-colour clothing. It was denims and jumpers for all, some obviously the handiwork of Molly Weasley. They were all tidy, all wearing trainers, all sitting cross-legged and at attention.

Merlin – they were far too young to act like soldiers, Severus thought. Especially soldiers such as these – not yet shell-shocked by battle but already traumatised by horror stories of what might be lurking around the corner.

Severus was totally out of his element but refused to flounder. Potter and his clan would be foolish not to be watching, so he took a fortifying breath, affected a stern yet calm demeanor, and began.

“Budge over,” he instructed, pushing in between the Lupin boy and one of the redheads. The younger child budged over so far he was practically in the lap of the girl beside him. Severus folded his legs, knowing he had to look ridiculous – sitting like this, at his age – and they eyed him warily.

“Well,” he began, “I’ve been sent to sort out your accidental magic.”

They winced, almost as one, and he frowned.

“What is it?” He looked from one face to the next, settling on a young girl with bushy auburn hair who was no more than seven or eight. 

“What is your name?” he asked

“Rose, sir,” she answered. She seemed less timid than the others and met his gaze expectantly. 

“Your surname?”

“Granger-Weasley to you, sir,” she answered. Beside her, a smaller boy with her eyes bit his bottom lip and looked at the floor. “But we go by Wesley now.”

“And why do you go by Wesley?” He didn’t have to ask as the answer was obvious, but he wanted someone to explain it nonetheless.

“Actually, there’s nothing wrong with Wesley,” she shot back. “It’s a perfectly ordinary name.”

“Unlike Granger-Weasley.” His gaze swept the group again. “Why did you all cringe when I said I’d been sent to sort ourt your accidental magic?”

“You can’t just talk about it like that!” exclaimed a boy of ten or so. 

“And you are?” Snape turned his head to regard the child, who squared his shoulders and met his eyes.

“Freddy Wesley. And you can’t just be saying those sorts of things.”

“What sort of things?” he asked, affecting a puzzled expression.

Freddie looked down and shook his head. Severus looked back to the girl, who opened her mouth, then closed it again and looked away.

“Magic, then? You’re opposed to me speaking of it?”

He swept the room with his gaze again. The assembled children remained silent and the younger ones fidgeted nervously. His gaze rested on a child who could only be a Potter. He had his father’s messy mop of hair and when he looked up, Severus caught the flash of Lily’s green eyes.

“Will you speak for the others?” 

The child bit his bottom lip and looked sideways at the boy beside him.

“Go ahead, then,” said the older boy. “Just tell him. He doesn’t seem to know about it.”

“We’re forbidden,” the child answered in a subdued tone. “We might make a mistake if we’re out. We might give it away.”

“It would ruin it all,” said Teddy Lupin. “And we’d have to register, and go to school.”

Severus knew he was fighting a losing battle. 

“Who teaches you now?” he asked.

“Mostly Uncle Harry,” volunteered Teddy. “And some of the others, too. I help with the smallest ones.”

“Uncle Harry,” repeated Severus. _This_ was the clan leader’s job? “He teaches all of you? Every day?”

“Aunt Hermione comes some days to do maths and history,” volunteered Freddie. “And Dad’s a whiz at science. We get to do experiments sometimes.”

Severus very much wanted to hear more about the sort of experiments these children were taught, but knew it was likely to be just another rabbit hole preventing them from getting at the heart of the matter.

“And what have you learned in history this week?” he asked the boy instead. 

“The top group is doing colonial expansion, and the little ones are studying Vikings.”

“I see.” Oh, he saw all right. The curriculum was most likely modeled after Potter’s and Granger’s Muggle education before Hogwarts.

“And how many of you have wands?” he asked to the room at large.

“Only Teddy and the twins,” Freddie volunteered.

The three children in question didn’t seem inordinately pleased at this. The twins shifted uncomfortably and Teddy’s hands clutched at his knees as if trying to anchor them in place.

“And the rest of you – how often do you have outbursts of accidental magic?”

“Not very often at all,” volunteered Rose. “But the last time it happened to me we were out in the rain and it was soaking us and I was so soggy – and it stopped raining.”

“Only over our heads!” piped in the smaller boy beside her.

“I was in Tesco’s with Dad and Lily got away and I floated right up in the air like a balloon so I could see her. Dad had to pull me down by my legs real quick. No one saw but we’ve not been back to that Tesco’s ever since.” 

Another Potter, Severus thought. The oldest – a boy who looked more Weasley than Potter. 

They all had a story to tell, it seemed. A time they’d wished for something and it had happened, or had been in danger and were suddenly safe somewhere else. When Teddy described how he’d turned a toad into a crup because he’d really, really wanted a _real_ pet, Severus held up a hand.

“And this was your last accidental magic? When did it occur?”

“A couple years ago,” Teddy answered. “Before Uncle Harry gave me my mum’s wand.”

Severus stayed there in that circle for longer than thirty minutes. He asked questions, encouraged the children to answer, and stored every word away for reference. By the time nearly an hour had passed, he knew their names and faces, and, through their stories of accidental magic, knew what they feared most.

Separation from their families.

Discovery by the Muggle world.

Magic.

It was unconscionable. Magical children, wizards and witches in the making, growing up in the middle of the Muggle world ignorant of the magical onr. Afraid of the magic gifted them by blood and tradition and perhaps by luck. Polite, obedient, subdued children. 

He’d have thought them the perfect students had he encountered such behavior at Hogwarts. But here, now, he found it nearly tragic.

“What do you like to do for fun?” he asked one of the older children, the twin called Adele.

“We play games,” she said. “Snap and Cribbage.”

“And Snakes and Ladders and Cluedo,” added Aiden, her twin.

“And we’ve books – lots of books,” Teddy added. “Even Lily and Hugo and Freddie are reading some now.”

Muggle stories, no doubt, Severus thought, knowing that _The Tales of Beetle the Bard_ wouldn’t be found in the Seeker Clan’s library.

What they’d just described, Severus thought, was a rainy day at Hogwarts with half the castle down with colds. 

“And chess, I presume?” he asked. “You are learning to play chess?”

“’Course we are,” scoffed Freddie. “It’s a school class, isn’t it? Even the little ones get chess from Uncle Ron.”

Several earnest faces nodded. 

“We’ve got some special chess sets,” the younger Potter boy – Albus – volunteered.

Severus nodded at the boy – Albus Potter had explained that they were using Evans now. Evans and Wesleys and Longs and Looper and Smythe. Names that appeared in the Wizarding world only on Muggle-borns.

“What sort of special sets?” he asked, curious if here, at least, a vestige of magic had been allowed to seep into these children’s day-to-day lives. He grimaced as he adjusted his position – he’d need a cushioning charm if he were to continue this bleak task. Or, more likely, a cushion, considering the rules of the house.

“We’ve got one with black and white swans for pawns,” answered Albus proudly. “And another that’s plain but over-sized. We saw some old men playing with the big pieces at the park once and Uncle Ron brought in a set after that. And we all got really small sets in our Christmas crackers one year.”

“Don’t forget the gnomes and gargoyles set.” It was the first time Hugo had spoken without being called out. He was still pressing in against his sister, but he couldn’t hold his tongue anymore now that he thought his favorite set was being bypassed. 

“We don’t get it very often,” Teddy explained. “It’s Uncle Ron’s favourite – he says it reminds him of the one he had when he was little.”

And while Severus knew these pieces could not be animated, and wouldn’t give advice, and certainly wouldn’t clobber each other with clubs or swords, gnomes and goblins were at least an inroad – a tiny inroad – and shouldn’t be discounted.

“All right,” he said, affecting a business-like air. “I’ve asked you quite a few questions. Do you have any for me now?”

It might seem an odd move on his part, this invitation to let the children pry into the personal life which he’d always kept quite private. They’d have no way of knowing that the questions they asked would reveal as much about themselves as his answers revealed about himself.

The children looked around at each other and finally Rose raised her hand.

Severus nodded. “Go on, then. What is your question?”

“Sir, what’s your favorite colour?”

He blinked.

“My favorite colour?” he repeated. “You want to know my favorite colour?”

“Yes, sir,” she nodded. “Mine’s blue.”

“I’ve always been partial to green,” Severus answered dryly.

A few moments of silence followed, then the oldest Potter boy – James – spoke up.

“How do you know my dad?”

Ah. So his reputation hadn’t preceded him. He should have appreciated this boon, but instead felt an odd sense of melancholy, and a rather startling rage, for what was clearly lost already.

“Your father was my student. At Hogwarts.”

He had their attention now. They looked at him with the fearful curiosity born of growing up around a taboo subject. Wanting to know more but afraid to ask. 

He waited.

“What – what did you teach?” asked Freddie, daring to voice what they all had to be thinking.

“Potions. And for a short time, Defense Against the Dark Arts. I taught many of your parents, of course.”

Hogwarts. Potions. Dark Arts. He said the words so readily. Fluidly. 

He endured a very long minute with no more than an occasional raised eyebrow at one child or another, silently inviting them to ask another question. Finally, Freddie, who along with Rose were very obviously the bravest of the lot, raised his hand.

“You don’t need to ask permission to speak,” Severus announced. “I’ve invited you to ask questions, so please ask. But do mind not to all speak at once.”

He finished this last piece with more than a touch of sarcasm, and saw smiles flit across Teddy and Rose’s faces.

Freddie lowered his hand. “What sort of potions?” he asked in a very quiet voice.

“Freddie!” hissed Adele. “You shouldn’t!”

“It’s a perfectly valid question.” Severus looked around the circle again. “Would you all like to hear the answer?”

“Of course,” Teddy answered. “Though the grown-ups won’t like it. We’re not supposed to – ”

“You answered my questions. I think it only fair I answer yours.”

“But we’re only children!” protested Rose, who was beginning to remind Severus more and more of her mother.

“Children who have already used potions,” Severus replied. “For example, a simple fever reducer. Or a burn paste.”

“Those are medicines!” protested Aiden. 

“And they are also potions. There are simple potions with only three ingredients, and complex potions with dozens that take weeks to brew. Many potions, but not all, have medicinal properties. Others are simply useful for household tasks, such as cleaning solutions, or poisons to kill doxy infestations.”

“We don’t have doxies here.” 

He hadn’t heard Potter enter, but continued on as if the interruption were a planned part of his session with the children.

“Doxies, mice, rats, roaches – no matter. They can even be used to kill fleas on dogs.” One of the children giggled, and Severus hid a smile as he stood, ignoring the pain in his knees as he did so. “And we’re finished here, thank you.” He turned back to see that Hermione Granger-Weasley had joined Harry. She nodded politely to Severus, and stared a few seconds too long at his Muggle attire before averting her eyes.

“Sandwich smorgasbord for lunch,” Harry announced. Snape frowned, but the children appeared to approve of what sounded like the opportunity to make their own sandwiches. He stood beside Severus as Granger-Weasley took charge of the children. They filed out of the room past them, giving him curious glances as they went. Undoubtedly, there was a classroom hiding in Wizarding Space behind one of the other doors.

“Green? Really, Snape?” Harry turned toward him as the door closed behind Teddy.

“Did you expect I’d say red?” Without waiting for Harry to offer, Severus walked over to a sofa and sat down near the end. He crossed his legs, affecting as casual a pose as he could muster, and waited.

Potter folded his arms and stood where he was, studying him.

“Honestly, I’m impressed,” he said at last. “You didn’t let on that the children repulsed you.”

“Nothing here has repulsed me,” Snape countered. “There are far better, more appropriate words in the English language to describe how I felt. Surprised. Startled. Enraged. Confused. Agitated.” He held up a hand to stave off Harry’s response. “Clearly, my isolation with the Protectors has not prepared me for the life you lead here.”

Harry looked startled at this admission. “Clearly,” he said.

“However, I still contend that my perspective as an outsider has merit. I’ve spoken with the children – and you’ve clearly monitored that conversation. Thank you for letting it go on uninterrupted for so long.”

Potter was startled – yet again – by this acknowledgement.

“We came in when we needed to,” he said. “You’d been with them nearly an hour.”

Severus nodded. “I have some questions for you, now.”

Potter sighed and unfolded his arms. “My favorite colour is red,” he volunteered as he sat down across from Severus. “And I’m teaching the youngest ones to play marbles – it’s as close as we can get to gobstones.”

“Hmm.” Severus waited for Potter to make himself comfortable. “Interesting as that is, I’m wondering about the children who have their own wands.”

Potter gave a resigned sigh. “Right to the quick, I see,” he said. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, the most obvious first, I suppose. Where do they get the wands?” Severus asked. He plucked at a loose thread on the arm of the sofa, then smoothed it down before looking up at Harry.

“Teddy’s using his mum’s wand, as he told you. It seems to work better for him than Remus’,” Harry answered. “We found wands for Adele and Aiden from a little cache we’ve gathered. Quite a few witches and wizards still have the wands their parents or grandparents used. It’s not the best solution – but it works for what they need now – as children.”

“I wondered – what with Ollivander….”

Harry laughed. “Working with you?” he asked. “I get it – he’s never fully recovered from his injuries, and he’s got that special kind of magic needed at Hogwarts. It’s just -” He stopped speaking and looked absently out an almost-covered window. “Well, you know how it is. We miss the old ways. But we don’t tell the children that. They’ve got to get used to the new way – to this life.”

“They seem quite accustomed to it. No one complained. They’re well-fed and warmly dressed. The absence of house-elves and treacle tart and pumpkin juice doesn’t seem to have affected them aversely.”

Harry cocked his head and gazed at Snape for a long moment.

“Go on then,” he said, when Severus simply stared back. “Go ahead and say what you’re thinking. What _does_ affect them aversely?”

“Fear. Worry. You know this. Feeling out of control. Tell me, at what age did the children get their wands?”

“Teddy got his a year or two ago – he was almost thirteen. The twins are twelve and have only had theirs a few months.”

“Why did you wait so long?” Severus asked.

Harry studied him. Severus wasn’t sure how much he liked this version of Harry – shrewd and calculating and always on edge. He’d had almost no personal contact with Potter in the years after the war before the Discovery, and none since he’d joined the Protectors. He hadn’t taken the time or energy to wonder what kind of man he’d become, but he was honest enough to admit he was surprised at what he saw on the surface. But there was a cauldron near the boiling point just under Potter’s skin, and Severus hoped to be nowhere near him when the pot boiled over.

“You mean why not give it to them when they turned eleven, don’t you?” 

Severus shrugged. “Your words, not mine,” he said.

“Why eleven?” Potter shot back. “We only got our wands at eleven because we were about to go to Hogwarts. These kids aren’t going anywhere when they’re eleven. They’ll be schooled here, if we’re all very lucky, and at Muggle school if not. There’s no reason to start them off so early.”

“Early?” Severus retorted. “I don’t recall complaining that eleven is _early_. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“What are you saying?” Potter leaned forward, looking both curious and horrified.

“You know what I’m implying.” Severus flicked his wrist and his own wand appeared in his hands. He rolled it between his fingers, studying it casually. “Why do we use wands, Potter?” he asked. He looked up quickly to find Harry staring at him, his face oddly neutral.

“To channel our magic. And I know where you’re going with this.”

“You’ve tried, then?”

“No! Of course not – it would be a fiasco! All of them using second-hand wands? And they’re far too young – too young to even learn some of the incantations and wand movements. And too impulsive to use them safely.”

“They can be taught.”

“They’re children. They’re only going to have one childhood, Snape. One chance to to….oh.”

The silence stretched out between them, but it wasn’t a troubling silence, or even an uncomfortable one. Severus waited while Potter worked things out in his head. He wondered how much time the man had away from the children, and how often he asked for help, or took it when it was offered.

“None of mine remember better days,” Potter said at last, and for the first time, Severus heard melancholy and sadness in his voice.

“No, I imagine they don’t,” Severus conceded. “This is their grim reality. But come what may, I believe it can be more hopeful – perhaps even joyful.”

“You do realise you just said the word joyful, don’t you?” Potter asked with a tired grin.

“The word is in my vocabulary,” Severus responded. “I imagine I’ve used it once or twice before.”

“Sarcastically,” Potter added.

“Perhaps. So – I can’t work with all the children at once….”

“No one said you’re going to work with them at all,” Potter interrupted. He stood up and walked to the window and looked out as he continued to speak. “I asked Minerva for help suppressing the children’s magic. I was looking for a potion – and a Potions Master. If the answer to our problem is to do exactly the opposite – to encourage their controlled magic – we have the resources here to accomplish that already.” He turned away from the window, and gave Severus an artificial smile. “But thank you for coming. We know how difficult it was for you to come here, especially considering how little you knew about our situation, and that you never leave the home ground.”

A thank you with a dig, Severus thought, realising he was being dismissed.

“Minerva expects me to stick it out at least two weeks,” he said, making no move to give up his seat. “She’s probably having my room redecorated in my absence,” he quipped. “I’d hate to spoil the surprise.”

“Well, since you’ve proven you won’t turn into a pumpkin outside the home ground, you could use the opportunity to take a little vacation – I’ve heard the Azores are nice this time of year.”

“You know I’ll be making a full report to Minerva upon my return,” Severus said as he stood, oddly reluctant to abandon the assignment he’d so fervently opposed. “She’ll doubtless be following up with you to see how the children are progressing.”

“Minerva has more important things to worry about,” Potter replied, trying to shut him down cleanly. “We’ll make do, and we’ll consider your recommendations.”

Severus looked around the unremarkable flat one last time. “My coat and bag?”

“Ah.” Potter jerked his head to the left and the items in question seemed to materialize in his arms. He handed them to the startled Severus. “We’ve all noticed it,” he said. “The less we use our magic, the stronger it seems to be. Even Neville doesn’t have to say the incantations anymore.” He opened the door and led the way into the entry. “You know that Ron and Hermione and the kids are at Spinner’s End, right?”

He hid his shock with a nod and a moment later found himself walking down the stairs he’d come up only two hours before. He didn’t think this would be the last he’d see of Harry Potter and his clan, not if he knew Minerva half as well as he thought he did.

“Jesus Christ – Snape?”

Startled out of his thoughts, he looked up into the equally startled face of a man who was, quite undoubtedly, Draco Malfoy. He was dressed in dark trousers, black leather boots and a long wool coat with turned up collar. He easily passed as a Muggle, though no one would have believed he lived in a building such as this. The years hadn’t been unkind to him, though a deep scar cut through his left eyebrow and his hair was thinning.

They froze only momentarily, then, without another word, each reached out a hand. Malfoy’s grasp was firm, though his hand was ice cold. There was an immediate spark, then the warm, comforting glow, creeping up past his wrist.

They stared at each other, dumbfounded.

They shared a clan mark.

Draco fucking Malfoy was a member of Seeker Clan.


	4. Severus Returns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life has a way of tossing one around a bit, but the big hurdles seem to be over at work, and I've returned from a trip to Alaska to see my son and his family. So you're being treated to a long chapter - and I hope "treated" is the right word to use. Enjoy - and the wait for chapter 5 will not be so very long at all.

“I don’t understand.” Draco pulled his hand away and looked at it a moment, as if it, and not the matching brands, was the cause of the shock that had left him nearly speechless.

“No, I suppose you don’t,” said Severus shakily. “I was – ” He stopped himself. They were on a public stairwell, for Merlin’s sake. “Well, I’m sure you’ll get the answers you’re looking for, Mr….?”

“Mallory. Donald Mallory” Draco spat the name out. What it must cost him to not flaunt the name Malfoy, Severus thought. Oddly, Draco seemed hesitant to be on his way. He glanced behind him at the empty stairway, then edged a step closer to Severus. “Wait – were you with them? Today?”

Snape nodded brusquely, uncomfortable despite the fact that Potter and his clan frequented these corridors.

“And he knew you were coming? You didn’t just pop in?”

“He asked for me,” Snape replied, meeting Malfoy’s eyes and frowning. What in the world was upsetting him so much? He discarded the thought – he was on his way out. Malfoy’s concerns were not his own. “But I’ll not trouble you any longer, Mr. Mallory, or keep you from your lunch. Perhaps we can catch up at a later time.”

He nodded in dismissal, hoping he looked more friendly and casual than he felt, but Draco grabbed his forearm, and Severus’ brand mark tingled even though their brand marks weren’t close enough to elicit thee response.

“Wait –how can you have …” Malfoy trailed off. As shocked and confused as he was, he knew better than to mention the clan mark outside the confines of safe walls. Draco pressed his lips together, as if he needed a physical impediment to keep from bursting out with “Why the hell do you have our clan mark?” He swallowed, trying a different approach. “You don’t leave the home ground,” he hissed, stepping even closer to Severus, edging up against him. “Everyone knows that, Snape. Everyone! But you came here. _Here._ Because he sent for you?”

Severus shot him a murderous look. Malfoy was no amateur. Was the fact that Potter hadn’t told him he’d sent for Severus upsetting him so much that he forgot all the carefully constructed rules about behavior in public?

“Perhaps your questions are better left for him,” he said. There was no need to clarify the identify of this _him_ , no need to mention a name when it was already understood. “Now – I’m sorry, but I’m late. I’m expected at home. Tt was good to see you, Mr. Mallory. Good day.”

Severus placed his hand atop Draco’s cold fingers, which were still clutching his forearm, and forcibly removed them, then pushed deliberately ahead toward the stairs.

Malfoy, however, reversed course and came after him. 

“Were you invited to dinner?” he asked. “Because you should come – stay, I mean.”

Severus ignored him. A few more steps and he’d be outside, and it wouldn’t do to call attention to himself by running down the street, dodging around bicycles and prams and ducking into alleys to avoid his former student.

“Another time,” he said in as firm a voice as he could muster as he eased out into the street and pulled the door shut behind him.

“I’m going to hold you to that.” The closed door cut off the end of the sentence, but Severus understood nonetheless. He hurried away without looking back, wondering all the way to the first apparition point what the hell was going on with Seeker Clan. On the surface, it seemed obvious. Adults with too many responsibilities and far too many cares and worries, dealing with treasured children whose very existence threatened the entire clan’s safety.

But under the surface, and not too deeply buried, something lurked. Something that felt dangerous but not sinister. A disturbing feeling of unrest that unsettled him. 

Perhaps he’d hidden himself away too long. Perhaps he really didn’t have any idea what life was really like for witches and wizards who’d chosen to stay, who hadn’t fled to one of the safe wizarding enclaves far from Muggle eyes. 

Every remaining clan in Great Britain, no matter where, no matter who they counted in their number, had a mission. Survival was key, but so, too, was passing on wizarding lore, a magical education of some sort for the children, and eyes open – always open – to identify magical children who weren’t getting Hogwarts letters. In the midst of all of those responsibilities, incomes had to be earned to support the families. True, the goblins had taken Gringotts underground and quite successfully fronted their wizarding operations out of a Muggle bank in Yorkshire, but exchange rates had plummeted and no one had resources enough to survive on their galleons and sickles.

Not even the Malfoys.

Severus leaned against the wall inside a vacant flat above a busy dry-cleaners in Leeds. He was no longer accustomed to Apparition, and was still spent from the his morning travels. He took a few moments to catch his breath before continuing on to the next stop at Carlisle. 

What had become of the Malfoy fortune? 

And for that matter, what had become of Lucius Malfoy? His wife was an early casualty of the upheaval in the years after Voldemort. Her death was ruled a suicide, but the circumstances were suspicious enough for the investigation to last for months. Lucius was already in Azkaban then, but he hadn’t been found after Potter and his team stormed the place and contained the dementors after the guards abandoned their posts soon after Discovery. His body hadn’t been counted among the dead, and he wasn’t among the survivors either. He was far from the only prisoner listed as missing. 

What else had they really expected? The Muggle Ministry had shown an immediate interest in the wizarding penal system. If a wizard’s power made him a potential threat, what, then, of wizards who’d already usurped Wizarding law? A small contingency had been taken to Azkaban to tour the prison and critique it. They’d set out by boat like all visitors did, along with the Deputy Minister of Magic, two Aurors and several Ministry senior aides. Not a single one of them had ever been seen again.

Azkaban no longer held prisoners. Unbelievably, it had become yet another island refuge for a stalwart group of witches and wizards, willing to live in the most austere environment imaginable, but one where magic was freely used, and the ghosts that haunted the prison were feared less than the assimilation waiting for them across the stormy waters on the mainland.

Severus shook himself from his thoughts. Seeing Draco had unnerved him – had sent his mind to places it hadn’t prowled for nearly a decade. 

He steeled himself, cleared his mind, and stepped into another hop, arriving behind a barrier wall of a long-unused and derelict platform at the city’s old railway station.

He took time again to catch his breath, resting in a hidden corner of this quiet, forgotten place, the unsettling meeting with Malfoy still at the forefront of his thoughts. 

Malfoy and Potter hated each other. Thy had always hated each other, from the moment the two eleven-year-olds had first laid eyes upon the other. This Severus knew to be fact. He’d seen both boys at their worst – and their best – and had never witnessed anything other than animosity. Therefore, Malfoy’s inclusion in the Seeker Clan made no sense at all. None of it made sense. Why were Potter and his clan living in Cokeworth, in a run-down apartment building surrounded by Muggles? Why were Weasley and Granger and family inhabiting his childhood home at Spinner’s End? He scoffed at that - calling it a home was generous indeed. Why were they raising children who were afraid of magic? Who were ignorant of magical terms that any three-year old would know?

He had half a mind to turn around and go back to Cokeworth and get to the bottom of the matter. 

But the other half longed for his own bed, the privacy of his quiet room, and the all-consuming purpose of protecting the Homeground. He’d already been away too long. He wouldn’t allow himself to be talked away again for a very long time, if ever. Potter had been clear enough – thank you, but no thank you.

He set his next destination in mind – a warehouse in Lauder – but when he stepped forward, he found himself thinking instead of home. Reckless, he told himself with the tiny bit of rational mind left him. Foolish, foolish old man.

When he reappeared moments later at the Apparition point inside a ring of ancient oaks deep in the Forbidden Forest, he lost his balance as his feet felt the ground below them and fell to his knees with a soft “Oof.” He winced as he smelled the usually comforting smell of the forest floor, then rolled over with difficulty, struggling to catch his breath, and found himself staring at two sturdy black shoes.

He blinked as Minerva McGonagall’s face came into focus, then closed his eyes again.

“Go away, Minerva.”

“You’re a grown man and you know your limitations, Severus. I won’t waste my time and my breath telling you how foolish you are. As you obviously won’t be able to Apparate back tonight on your own, Mr. Malfoy will have to take you side-along.”

Surely Minerva hadn’t said…. No. He’d hit his head. Or been deprived of oxygen too long in that last jump. He struggled to his feet and stood, sucking in long breaths that hurt his lungs, as he waited for the world to right itself again. She hadn’t just said that Draco Malfoy would be Apparating him back to Cokeworth. She hadn’t. Absolutely not. 

“In case that wasn’t clear, Severus, you’re going back to Cokeworth. Tonight. With Draco Malfoy.”

“No.” He met her eyes and pretended he was staring down a student about to earn a detention.

Minerva laughed. “Pick up your bag and come with me, Severus. I want to have a word with you before I send you off again. You’ve got to have quite a bit more backbone when it comes to dealing with Harry –I didn’t think I’d have to remind you of that. Thank goodness Draco has some influence on him – and that he’s accustomed to Apparating and was able to beat you back here by nearly twenty minutes. Long enough for me to listen to his tale and head out to meet you. I got here just as you popped in. It was like watching Neville Longbottom on his Apparition test.”

She hid a smile and he resolutely ignored her as he brushed the dirt off his robes, taking his time to do the job thoroughly, then rescued his bag from where it had tumbled several feet behind her, moving casually as if one’s bag always flung itself across the way when one Apparated.

“I am not returning to Cokeworth, Minerva,” he said as he arranged his bag back on shoulder. He felt relatively composed, despite his rather humiliating performance. His took only a small bit of comfort in the fact he hadn’t splinched himself. “Mr. Potter has made his feelings clear on the matter. I did as you asked, quickly arrived at a plan of action that would have solved the problem he brought to you and several more besides, and was summarily shown the door. I am not wanted there. “

“Draco Malfoy says otherwise,” said Minerva. “He tells me that you’re exactly what they need.”

“Need does not equate to want, as you well know,” he quipped. He surveyed his surroundings then took a deliberate step in the direction of the safe house as his stomach rumbled. He couldn’t tell if he was hungry – he had left just before lunch, after all - or if it was protesting the abuse he’d just inflicted on his body. 

“I wouldn’t discount Mr. Malfoy’s opinion just yet,” Minerva said from behind him. “There’s quite a bit about him that you don’t …”

“So when he speaks of need, is Mr. Malfoy speaking for the children? Or for himself?” he interrupted. He really didn’t want her to continue down that particular road. He thought he knew enough about the man even without an update on how Malfoy had weathered the years after Discovery. In any event, he knew Draco Malfoy would have little patience or tolerance for other people’s children, and that was all that mattered in this situation.

Minerva had caught up with him and was walking beside him now, and he instinctively slowed his pace in deference to her age and shorter stride.

“He believes you can solve their problem,” she said. “He thinks your idea will work. And if it does, Harry’s heavy load will be lightened. He may be able to enjoy life a bit without the constant worry for the children.”

“He is a father. He will always worry.” Severus said dismissively, but he was carefully turning her words over in his mind. Minerva was insinuating that Malfoy – inherently selfish and self-serving Draco Malfoy – would somehow benefit from Potter’s improved mood. That Harry ‘enjoying life a bit’ was the end game for Malfoy. 

But why?

“Why is Malfoy with that clan?” he asked abruptly.

“That clan?” Minerva raised a critical eyebrow at him. “You do recall that it is _your_ clan too now, don’t you?”

“I could hardly forget,” Severus answered, not hiding his icy sarcasm. 

“He needed a place after his wife fled with the child,” Minerva answered. “He was alone and floundering – and nothing good comes of that situation in this day and age. The clan leaders met and Potter agreed to take him.” 

Severus looked at her sharply. “Where are the Slytherins, then?” he asked. “Surely one of them…”

“Malfoy was a liability,” she said, as if that explained everything. And in a way, it did. Slytherins took care of their own, but only if when it suited them to do so. 

“I don’t understand.” He eyed Minerva speculatively. He had a hundred ideas, and none of them really made sense. That his Slytherin friends had turned Draco Malfoy away seemed improbable, especially given the status of the Malfoy family in the pureblood world. 

He reminded himself again that that particular world no longer existed. He knew that several of the old estates – the Malfoy’s included – had locked down as tightly as Hogwarts had. They were unplottable, unnoticed by Muggles, and impenetrable, even by their owners. Rumor had it that Lucius was holed up inside, that he’d made it back to Malfoy Manor from the carnage at Azkaban. But if he had, he’d not been seen, or even heard from, and Severus thought it unlikely he’d have allowed Draco to fend for himself in the new world.

And he’d never have stood by while his daughter-in-law and grandson abandoned England, and the Malfoy name, and fled with the Greengrass family to Canada where the Greengrass Squibs had been banished for more than a century. 

“You know already that much of the old wizarding money is leveraged in the Muggle world as well. The Muggle Ministry has tied the Malfoy name to a holding company in Edinburgh. All of the Malfoy’s Muggle holdings are being closely watched. There are a good number of tax infractions – I am certain this won’t surprise you. In a time when every witch and wizard seeks anonymity, an alliance with Draco Malfoy is ill-advised. Harry took him in with the stipulation that he change his name and hold down a Muggle job. We were able to successfully fabricate his new identity – Harry took a chance and Confounded a low-level government worker who’d been flirting with him. She processed his Citizen card without scrutinizing the documentation as closely as she could have.”

Severus turned this information over. Potter had risked quite a bit for Malfoy. Some would suggest that he’d risked everything. And this was as hard to believe as Draco Malfoy holding down a Muggle job. Severus had seen him in the middle of the day, so whatever he was doing, it wasn’t a job with a conventional schedule. He couldn’t begin to imagine Malfoy on a second shift line at a Muggle factory, or waiting tables, or driving a London cab. In fact, he couldn’t scare up even a fleeting image of Malfoy _working_. He was missing something here, something important. 

“While I realise I am clinging to the old ways – or at least to the perceptions I had as a Wizard at the turn of the century – I can’t for a moment imagine Draco Malfoy working, much less working a Muggle job. Nor can I imagine Harry Potter risking his family to save Draco Malfoy.” He’d stopped in his tracks, within sight of the safe house, and Minerva turned around with a sigh.

“Just say it, Severus. Be direct, for Merlin’s sake. Mr. Malfoy is waiting inside, and we’ve tarried long enough as it is.”

“Why?” he asked. “What am I missing, Minerva?”

“The obvious,” she said with a barely-there smile. She met his eyes, gaging his reaction, perhaps. “Draco and Harry have a history, Severus.” Her smile broadened at the gobsmacked look on his face. “Yes - _that_ kind of history. Mind you – this has no bearing on the situation you’ve been asked to address – I’m telling you only to keep your brain from exploding as you try to sort it all out. It started a year or two after the war and went on for longer than any of us thought possible, given their temperaments. It ended with Harry being noble and pushing Draco away so he could marry and produce an heir. It broke both their hearts, I imagine, but Malfoy was married to Astoria Greengrass within three months, though that heir didn’t come along until Harry and Ginny had already married and produced two children of their own. Then Astoria and the child left, and Draco had nowhere to go.”

“And Potter was conveniently unattached by then,” Severus said, rather ungenerously.

“I very much doubt he felt his situation convenient,” she chided. “And do note that I said they have a history – a past. I have no idea what the status of their relationship is now. It’s none of my business – nor yours, I might add – and people have better things to do now than read gossip in the _Prophet._ Now come – I want a word with you in private and indoors, then we’ll find Mr. Malfoy and you can be on your way.”

They found Malfoy before they had a chance to speak privately. He was waiting in the small formal parlor just inside the side door and jumped to his feet as soon as he saw them.

“Snape – good.” He looked both relieved and nervous. “We should get going.”

“I need to have a private word with Severus first,” Minerva told him. She asked him to wait there a bit longer and led Severus back to a quiet corner of their clan’s gathering room. He settled into his favorite of the two worn leather wingchairs near the fire and dropped his head back against the cushions. This. This was where he belonged. He had absolutely no desire to return to the bare rooms of the Potter flat in Cokeworth.

“You’re really going to ask me to go back with him, aren’t you?” he asked, opening one eye halfway to regard Minerva.

“Yes,” she answered dismissively. “Do you really intend to give the children wands, Severus?”

“Yes,” he answered, voice curt. “They need to control their magic, not suppress it. They need quite a bit more than that as well, but wands come first.”

“Children as young as four years old, Severus?”

“Yes. All the children. They’ll learn together.”

“And they will all require wands.”

“Yes – and before you waste your breath telling me so, I am well aware that they can’t all traipse down to Diagon Alley to choose them at Ollivander’s.” 

“Which is why you will need to consult with Ollivander youself,” she said. “Convenient, isn’t it, that we have him here.”

“Ollivander is needed here, and even more so if you plan on sending me away.”

“Especially _as_ I plan on doing so,” Minerva stated. “And I am not suggesting that he craft new wands for the children. I am not about to ask him to use his meager core stores for what many would see as a risky experiment. He has work enough just keeping our wands up to snuff. I am suggesting that he might have a few wands hidden away that you could try out. I am also advising you to speak with him about wand lore so that you can be sure the children and the wands are matched up properly.”

“The young witch or wizard knows,” replied Severus. “Ollivander simply confirms what the child already feels.”

“Well, then,” she said lightly. “Since you’re already a master of wand lore, Severus, I’ll call Garrick in so you can teach _him_ all you know.”

“He’ll think I’m a fool – suggesting that children this young be given wands,” Severus said.

Minerva smiled enigmatically. “Perhaps.” She rose stiffly from her chair and held out a hand to stop him when he began to do the same. “Patience, Severus. I know you’re anxious to get back to Cokeworth but do humour me and confer with Garrick, if only for ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes I could spend within the privacy of my own room.”

“You’re just being difficult to test me, Severus,” she scolded. “I’ll send for him now, then take Mr. Malfoy to the common room so he can entertain us with an ad hoc report from the Seeker Clan. He’ll be woefully unprepared but incredibly haughty nonetheless.”

She disappeared through the door and Severus rolled his wand in his hand impatiently.

“Careful, Severus. Dragon heartstring is quite difficult to procure these days. You’ll be using a Niffler gut core if you continue to treat your wand like that.”

“Were you lurking outside waiting for Minerva to leave?” Severus snapped as Garrick Ollivander, leaning on his cane, hobbled into the room.

Ollivander laughed and his odd eyes crinkled in amusement. The man had weathered the years since Discovery reasonably well but had suffered greatly under Voldemort and was more feeble than the rest of the Protectors. He used a three-footed cane Hagrid had carved for him, and was given patrols even less physically demanding than Minerva’s.

“I had the pleasure of speaking with Draco Malfoy a few moments ago. He’s quite excited by your plan, Severus.” The man settled into the chair Minerva had vacated and rested both hands and his chin atop his cane. “Mr. Malfoy tells me that Harry called you in to help with the children’s accidental magic. I imagine he had something else in mind, altogether. A potion, perhaps?”

“I doubt that he asked for me because I’m gifted at wand lore,” Severus retorted, but he sighed and reminded himself that his frustrations were not caused by the old man before him. “He wanted a potion to suppress their magic. I refused.”

“He’s that desperate, then?” 

“He had no idea how dangerous those potions are. And no – if he were truly desperate, he would not have sent me away when I presented my plan. To be fair, though, he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders and calling for me was a major concession on his part. He’d finally made the difficult decision to take a road he’d been avoiding. Apparently, the idea of a dozen under-aged wizards equipped with wands would frighten even a seasoned Hogwarts professor.”

Ollivander’s eyes were wide with a passion Severus hadn’t seen in them for years. “But Severus – it’s brilliant, isn’t it? The entire age restriction is an artifice. An artifact from the days when magical children could expect an Owl from Hogwarts the year they turned eleven. Who’s to say what the proper age is? Needs must, Severus.” He lowered his voice. “Now – how do you intend to do it? I have some ideas.” He sighed. “If I had the strength to Apparate, or even to withstand a side-along, I’d go with you in a heartbeat.”

“Some of the older children have wands already. Potter said most belonged to family members. The results won’t be the same as being able to be fitted with the perfect wand after trying out dozens, but as you say – needs must. I’m hoping the clan will be able to come up with a few more wands and Minerva mentioned that you might have a few to offer as well.”

“I do – I do sincerely wish I could make them each their own wand, Severus – and goodness knows the wood at least is still plentiful. But I’m so low on core stock. What I would give to have Albus’ Fawkes back for a dropped feather or two.” He smiled sadly but brightened again within seconds. “I’ll go fetch them then. These all have small imperfections, but I’ve kept them hoping to reuse the cores someday when our need was the greatest.”

“But they can be used as they are?” asked Severus. “Safely? Even with the imperfections?”

“Surely.” Ollivander laughed. “The imperfections are rather difficult to find. But I know they’re there, and could not in good conscience sell them. An irregularity in the wood grain may seem a small thing, but in those days the materials were not so scarce, and it seemed a crime to pass on a less-than-perfect wand to a child just starting her magical journey.”

“I’ll take whatever you have,” Severus said, knowing that with this concession he may as well drop the pretense that he was not going back to Cokeworth.

Ollivander nodded. “I’ll fetch them for you,” he said, sighing as he used his cane as leverage to slowly push himself to his feet again. “You’ll need to learn to read them, Severus. A child will want to know the wood and the core.”

“They aren’t marked? I don’t have time to learn how to read a wand.” He knew everything had changed since the day he’d bought his own wand, at his mother’s side, back at Ollivander’s shop in Diagon Alley, but the image of the long velvet-lined boxes stacked to the ceiling remained stubbornly in his head.

“Marked? Oh no. No, no, no.” Ollivander looked appalled, “No need to take away the magic, is there?” He winked at Severus. “Part of the wand buying experience is the little show at the shop, is it not?”

Severus narrowed his eyes. “Please do not take away one of my best childhood memories,” he warned. “Do not tell me you aren’t really a flighty, scatter-brained off-kilter old shopkeeper.”

“There is a science to it, my boy, as well as an art,” Ollivander admitted. “There was of course a bit of smoke and mirrors for the children, and I usually presented them with a few wands at the beginning that were totally unsuitable.” He had a fond look on his face that softened his features and made him look more the ageless man Severus had first met forty years ago. “It made the feel of the right wand even more right, you see,” he added as he made his way to the door. “I’ll read the wands for you before you go, Severus. You can write down the wood and core of each for the children. Then you can practice a bit with them – learn to read them yourself. You’ll find it isn’t so hard. A dozen or so woods, only three cores and you can always use a tape measure to read the length.”

“Why only three?” asked Severus as Ollivander opened the door. “Especially now. Surely there are substitutes. Other wandmakers….”

“Use other materials and, Merlin willing, will continue to do so. I am too old, Severus. But yes, were I younger and more able-bodied, I’d experiment a bit. But magical creatures are not exactly abundant these days, even the creatures in this very forest. They sense the Trouble, and fear it….” His voice trailed off as he clunked away down the corridor. 

Severus had only a moment to contemplate avoiding the looming wand fiasco by escaping to a tropical island before Minerva popped her head into the room. She took one look at his face and rolled her eyes.

“You’d burn up in the sun, Severus. You’ve been inhabiting these dark woods far too long. Now – you have what you need from Ollivader? He’s gone off to fetch a few spares for you?”

“Seconds, I take it,” he corrected her. “Wands with some small imperfection he deemed unworthy for the children of Hogwarts.”

“But perfectly suitable still,” she said with a satisfied smile. “Kingsley and Filius have Mr. Malfoy now. They’ll keep him busy for a few more minutes.” She settled back into her chair and got right back to business. “You mentioned other problems with the children, Severus? Besides bursts of accidental magic?”

He shrugged. When would she consider that he’d crossed the line? She’d been clear that Potter and Malfoy’s relationship was none of his business, hadn’t she? “The children are being raised without the basic language of magic. They are reprimanded for using words that are taboo to use around Muggles, even when inside their own homes. They are dull, Minerva. Reserved and frightened. They came alive – albeit briefly – only when they were alone with me.”

Minerva’s eyes, large behind her clear spectacles, looked both thoughtful and sad as he finished speaking. She considered a moment before she spoke, opening her mouth then closing it again as if having second thoughts about what she was about to say. When she at last replied, her words were careful.

“I can only imagine what it is like for their parents. But I don’t see another way, Severus. Not if we are to be successful at hiding openly. At least the other clans are not so exposed.”

“I wondered about that,” he said. “Why are they in Cokeworth? There must be a thousand more suitable places to squirrel away a group of that size. Safer places, Minerva, where the children can run and play like the children they are.”

“There are,” she agreed. She sized him up again, then smiled. “But I’ll leave that to Harry to explain to you. It’s something you should know sooner than later, as a member of the clan, and something I couldn’t have even mentioned before you were branded.” She shook her head at the disagreeable look he gave her. “Look at it as a challenge. You’ll need to encourage his trust in you before he shares the clan’s mission with you. If you do well by those children, it will be a cake walk, Severus.”

But when an hour later he arrived he arrived in Cokeworth on Draco’s arm, with a dozen ragtag wands carefully packed in his bag, and found himself face-to-face with a stone-faced Harry Potter, he doubted that anything would be the cake walk Minerva promised.


	5. Of Schoolbooks and Portraits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his return to Cokeworth with Draco Malfoy, Severus gets settled in the Potter flat and meets an unexpected resident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. I'm back and in the saddle again. Chapter 6, where the children all choose their wands, is well on its way to completion too.

Draco and Severus had Apparated directly into Potter’s office in the Cokeworth flat, and found Potter there waiting for them with folded arms and stony expression.

“I’ll show Snape to his room,” Potter said without preamble, addressing Draco coolly. “Wait for me here – I’ll only be a minute.”

His voice was carefully modulated and nearly toneless, but Draco took a step backward, releasing Severus’ arm, and nodded stiffly. He sat in a shabby leather chair, and affected a casual pose with some difficulty.

Potter led Severus into the familiar crowded corridor and leaned on the wall between two closed doors with one shoulder, sliding through the magical gateway without another word. It’s a true leader who expects to be followed, Severus thought, following without a word. He stepped through to a small square room, more like the foyer at Grimmauld Place than a Muggle flat’s corridor. It had doors on all the walls and a window to the outside where no real window could possibly be. For the first time since entering the flat that morning, Severus felt that he was in a wizard’s home.

“This one,” Harry said with a gesture at a door to the left that he’d just opened. “We didn’t have much time but the sheets are clean and we gave it a quick dusting. Settle in. You’ll have to share a bath but we’ll give you as much privacy as we can.” He stood back as Severus peered into the room. He was behaving oddly formally, in contrast to his behavior earlier in the day when Severus had first arrived and had been granted time alone with the children. If Severus had been predisposed to be a fearful person, this Potter, older and colder, might have given him reason to lose sleep as he worried through the night.

Severus stepped into the room and placed his bag on the end of the bed. He looked back toward Potter, who, caught staring at him, immediately affected a disinterested posture.

“I’ll need some time with you tonight,” Severus stated. “After dinner, I think. An hour should suffice.”

Potter opened his mouth, a retort on his lips, but closed it without comment as he leveled an assessing look at Severus.

“I am here at Minerva’s bidding,” Severus stated when Potter’s stare lingered and he still didn’t speak. “I prefer to execute the task she has set me and return to where I’m both needed _and_ wanted. And to achieve that end, you and I must be on the same page from the start.”

Potter’s expression wavered only slightly, but Severus knew he’d won the man’s attention, and possibly the beginnings of respect. To his credit, he didn’t argue that Severus wasn’t wanted here.

“We’re already on the same page in one area,” Potter admitted with a strained grimace that might have been a smile in another lifetime. “We’ve both agreed to do Minerva’s bidding.”

Severus raised an eyebrow, then bent to open his bag.

“Dinner in an hour,” Potter said, all business again. “And we can talk in my office once the children are in bed.”

Severus looked up and nodded curtly, then returned to his unpacking as Potter took a step backward, then disappeared through the wall.

Severus straightened his shoulders, staring out the door. Potter was a puzzle – no longer wearing his heart on his sleeve, he kept his emotions well in check, though Severus could practically see and feel them simmering just below the surface. 

He sat down on the bed and looked around the room. Bed, small desk, chest of drawers, cupboard door. Though it was part of a Muggle apartment, with electric fixtures in the main rooms, this room had a three-tapered candelabra on the chest and an oil lamp on the desk. Worn throw rugs warmed the floor beside the bed, and a small bookshelf served as a bedside table. Dim light illuminated the room through the window, which was almost certainly as magical as the wizarding space that had created this room, so Severus cast a quick Lumos to examine the contents of the bookshelf.

Well then.

There was no attempt in this room to hide magic. 

The bottom shelf held what could only be Potter’s nearly-complete collection of Hogwarts textbooks. Most were more worn than Potter’s marks would suggest, though they were well preserved and carefully arranged in order by subject and year. An assortment of reference books accompanied the textbooks, including a dog-eared Muggle dictionary and several tomes on magical creatures. The top shelf was filled with a surprising collection of books on Magical theory, the psychology of the magical child, dream interpretation and wand theory, among other topics. A well-worn copy of _Hogwarts, a History_ rested atop several other books, and Severus stared at it for a long moment before pulling it out and dropping it carefully on the bed beside him.

It wouldn’t hurt, he thought, to read it while he whiled away his time here. Anything - _any clue_ \- might be hiding there, missed by every other scholar.

He’d assumed that this little hidden alcove of rooms housed Potter and the children, but realised that the children wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near these books. He pulled the wand lore book off the shelf and set it atop the other on the bed, then stood again and walked into the middle alcove and looked through the open door into the room across from his. It was furnished much like his own, with four poster bed, chest of drawers, desk and bookshelf. But from the clothing draped across the bed and the boots lined up against the wall by the cupboard, to the expensive-looking bottles lined up on the chest of drawers, he knew it was Draco Malfoy’s room. He stood in the doorway, considering that Malfoy was not rooming with Potter, or at least was making the pretense of maintaining his own quarters. The door of the third bedroom was closed, but Severus rapped on it lightly and when there was no sound from within, turned the knob and pushed it open. 

He’d expected a bedroom but found a work room instead, easily twice as big as either of the bedrooms. The room served as office, small library, laboratory and meeting room. Potter hadn’t invited him to make himself comfortable, but the room had the air of a common room, with a women’s cardigan over the back of a chair, a coffee mug on a coaster on the desk, and a pile of Muggle magazines on the worktable. He examined the brewing station in the corner, with the pewter cauldron and assortment of basic accessories. Someone had been brewing Pepper-up recently, and the ingredient stores indicated supplies for a burn salve and a hangover remedy as well. Someone in the house preferred coffee, as the supplies for pour-overs grouped next to the tea service suggested.

The only truly remarkable thing in the room was a painting hanging over a worn leather loveseat. 

Remarkable not because it was interesting, or particularly well-executed, but because the painting was familiar to Severus, though this one had a much less elaborate frame than the one that had hung in the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts. It also featured a large potted plant that seemed rather awkwardly placed in the corner of the portrayed room, as if in afterthought.

“Well, what have we here? What have we here?” drawled the familiar voice of Phineas Nigellus. “Straight out of Hogwarts and back to stick your over-sized nose into Harry Potter’s business yet again?”

Severus regarded the painted figure which had stepped out from behind the potted plant with curiosity. The figure was most decidedly the former Slytherin headmaster – Severus had spoken to him so frequently back in the year he’d occupied Dumbledore’s office that he knew he’d never forget the simpering nasal tones. Yet, something was immediately off about it. This man had been a Slytherin, and a Black, and his portrait was fueled by his own memories, his very DNA. He was also an adamant supporter of all things Slytherin, most especially Slytherin headmasters, and had never shown Severus anything but respect, tempered and reluctant though it might have been through his caustic personality. His attitude had been markedly different with Severus than with Dumbledore.

“Straight out of Hogwarts?” drawled Severus, raising an eyebrow. “I think not.”

Nigellus shrugged as if Severus’ recent whereabouts were of little or no concern to him.

“Ah. I quite forgot. You flew the coop there at the end, didn’t you? Right through the window, I’m told. A discredit to Slytherin House. Cowardly act.”

Severus frowned. That Nigellus called him a coward didn’t bother him on a personal level. He wasn’t a coward, and hadn’t been, and arguing with a portrait was one of the most unproductive avenues he could travel. But that this particular portrait called _any_ Slytherin a coward, any Slytherin at all, was odd. Beyond odd – downright troublesome. Slytherins protected themselves when the chips were down and Severus’ flight that last day of his tenure at Hogwarts was, from the surface, an act of self-preservation and entirely Slytherin of him.

Severus took a careful step toward the portrait, determined to tread carefully. Of all the odd things he might have expected to encounter here with Seeker Clan in Cokeworth, an out-of-character portrait would never have made his top one-hundred list. 

“Slytherins are allowed to be cowards when it advances our goals,” Severus countered. “I find it difficult to believe that you’ve forgotten that, Phineas.”

“I’ve forgotten nothing!” snapped Nigellus.

Severus shrugged, feigning disinterest. “You certainly can’t deny that you’re more protective of Harry Potter’s business than you were during our brief association.” He glanced at the man still lingering half behind the potted plant. “As I recall, you had quite a few opinions about that particular reckless Gryffindor.”

Nigellus faltered.

“Well, I – I did, of course I did.” He edged sideways until he was standing against the edge of the frame. He glanced at Severus then pressed hard with his shoulder against the edge of the portrait. His face fell when he met solid resistance and he collapsed to the ground, suddenly a blubbering mess.

“I can’t take it any longer!” he wailed in an extremely un-Slytherin manner. “Gryffindors by day and Gryffindors by night with only the young Mr. Malfoy for relief and even he’s practically a Gryffindor these days!”

“You can’t get to your other portrait,” Severus stated unnecessarily, stepping closer as Nigellus stood and charged into the side of the frame again. “Hogwarts is locked down.”

“He thought he was being _helpful_ ,” Nigellus said, pointing distractedly toward the other side of the frame. “Hanging _that_ so I’d have somewhere to _recreate_.”

Severus glanced at the painting that decorated the wall beside the window. He frowned and stepped closer to study it, wondering, not for the first time that day, what the bloody hell had happened to the Harry Potter he thought he’d known.

Potter – if indeed it had been Potter who’d decided on this piece of artwork for the room – had hung an oversized painting of the Gryffindor common room, complete with squishy chairs, an overabundance of red and gold, and a brightly burning fire. As if the décor wasn’t bad enough, the room was populated by a half dozen Gryffindor students lounging in the chairs, feet propped up on ottomans or tucked under bottoms. A large ginger cat slept on a cushion by the fire.

Severus grimaced in sympathy.

“I doubt he hung it with your recreation in mind,” he said, thinking that the painting had to give Potter a great deal of nostalgic comfort. “And I imagine he’s trying to keep you close. If you’re able to move to your other portrait, Potter would surely want to know immediately.”

“Found our resident whinger, have you?” 

Draco’s voice was a jarring interruption, but Severus refrained from spinning around to face him.  
“Phineas Nigellus,” he answered, turning slowly to face Malfoy who’d come through the portal and was standing in the center of the hub, watching him. “I’m well acquainted with him already.” He watched as Draco walked into his bedroom and carelessly dropped his jacket onto his bed. “I suppose you know this painting used to hang in Grimmauld Place.”

Malfoy shrugged. “Harry may have mentioned that. I suppose he took it when he gave the place away. He’s absurdly attached to the ugly thing.” He seemed to have reacquired some of the pompousness Severus remembered, though it came off as more cheeky than arrogant. 

Severus stepped out of the work room, eyes on Malfoy.

“Gave the place away?” he asked. “Who’s there now, then?”

“Can’t say,” Malfoy answered. “Not me – though I understand it’s my ancestral home.” He opened the cupboard door, picked up his coat from the bed, hung it up, then stood before the mirror over the chest of drawers and picked up a comb to straighten his hair.

“Can’t say because you don’t know?” Severus persisted, curious now. He watched Malfoy comb his hair back, realising that the man had come back here more disheveled than he’d left him and reaching the obvious conclusion with an odd distaste.

“Oh, I know,” Malfoy drawled. He tucked a thin strand of hair behind an ear and tilted his head to examine a spot beneath his ear, brushing his fingers across it lightly. He gave a self-satisfied smile then turned to face Severus. “But only Harry can tell you – and he’ll tell you what he thinks you need to know.”

“No matter. I’ve gone without knowing this long – I doubt it will affect me either way.” He needed to remember that – that in his separation from other wizards these past years, he’d not missed out on anything truly important.

He’d of course soon learn that that wasn’t exactly true.

Malfoy gazed at him for a moment, then shrugged. “Come on. I’ll show you through to dinner. We can have a glass of wine while we wait for him to get the brood cleaned up.”

Severus frowned as he followed Malfoy through and back to what he was already mentally referring to as the Muggle flat. Malfoy left him in the front parlor while he went to fetch the wine, and Severus settled into a marginally comfortable chair to wait. He heard Potter’s muffled voice through the walls and the occasional voice of one of the children, and before Draco returned with the wine, a child ran down the hall and skidded to a stop in the doorway.

“I’m s’posed to show you where we eat,” he said. “Dad said you can help with the plates.”

“Mr. Snape.” Severus fixed his eyes on the small child. “My name is Mr. Snape. You should address adults by the name they wish to be called.”

“Alright,” he said, then added a rather reluctant “Mr. Snape.”

Dinner was nothing like what Severus might have imagined a dinner at the Potter family table would be. The children were well-behaved. They ate vegetables without complaint. They said please and thank you. They showed little interest in Draco, nor he in them, though he seemed to be an accepted feature at the dinner table. 

Harry, for his part, was fairly amiable. He asked each child about his or her day, patiently listened as each related a series of frankly uninteresting events, and answered James’ question about Snape without conveying his opinion about Snape’s mission. The meal was simple, and uninteresting, and prepared and served in such a way that Snape had no doubt not a hint of magic was used in its preparation.

Magic in the Seeker Clan was something for adults to see, for adults to use. 

Draco made only a show at eating, pushing food around on his plate with little interest. He engaged so infrequently in the family’s conversation that Severus soon realised he had no touch points with a Muggle child, or a Muggle childhood. And as a father – well, he’d been separated from his own progeny before the child was sitting at table with them. He’d never had to answer questions about what made a squirrel a rodent, or when the family could finally get a puppy, or if they could please go to Grandma Molly’s over the weekend.

Where were the Weasley’s, anyway? He saw Arthur from time to time at the Home Ground, and knew he was with the bare-boned Underground Ministry they’d set up after Discovery. It wasn’t called the Ministry, and it did little but provide a framework of organization for the magical population, and Severus had paid little attention to its dealings. But had Arthur and Molly remained in Ottery St. Catchpole in that house that was held together by hope and magic? He listened to Harry patiently explain to his daughter that a puppy needed much more room than they had to offer, and they’d consider one only if they were able to move to a bigger place.

“You get to play with Grumpy,” he reminded her.

“Not very often!” protested James. “And Uncle Charlie lives too far away!”

How had he not wondered where anyone was living before? How had he not once contemplated what had happened to the Weasley’s home? Or Grimmauld Place? 

As they cleared the table – an all-hands activity – and started on the dishes, Harry raised a hand as Severus picked up a dish towel to help dry.

“The children can take care of that. Leave us to it and I’ll meet you out here in an hour – I can have the younger ones down by then and Draco can have a game of chess with Jamie in his room.”

Neither Draco nor James looked overjoyed at the prospect of a chess game, but Harry held up a finger when James began to protest and James sighed. 

“Alright – but no cheating this time!” he said.

Severus excused himself and returned to his room. He spent the next hour sitting on the floor beside the bookcase, back against the bed, meticulously studying the books in the case. Potter had such an odd collection here, in his guest room, that Severus couldn’t begin to imagine what he might have that he didn’t choose to share with visitors. These books weren’t merely shelf décor for they all showed some degree of wear. He paged through a potions text, the one they’d used at Hogwart for years for the fourth-years. On the inside of the back cover was a drawing of a dog, a black dog Snape immediately recognized.

Potter had scrawled “Padfoot” below the drawing. On the facing page was a reasonable likeness of Mad-Eye Moody, with the magical eye over-exaggerated. “Constant Vigilance!” was printed above in a block letters. An upside-down spider, a weasel or some other unidentifiable rodent, the Beaux Batons carriage, and a crude but effective likeness of Viktor Krum all decorated those final pages.

And then he turned to the front of the book and found the dragon.

He’d been impressed by Harry’s flying that day, though he’d never have admitted it then. He’d been sitting directly behind Dumbledore, with orders to follow Dumbledore’s lead should anything go amiss. He was to lend his strength to whatever spell Dumbledore cast. That Potter had pulled the Horntail from the bag was no secret – Bagman had told Dumbledore before the first contestant emerged. Still – to see the boy, so small on that broom on that long-ago day, challenging the great beast, had been both terrifying and exhilarating. But to see what stayed with him here, all these years later, in a world where dragons were nothing more than a bedtime fairytale for Harry Potter’s children, gave him pause.

Not a menacing beast on wing but a mother, stretched up out of her nest, protecting her young.

The beast was still fierce, the claws and teeth sharp, but Potter had taken care to sketch in the clutch of eggs, and oddly, to portray himself as the aggressor, leaning in on the broom, arm outstretched toward the eggs.

He’d spent more time than he’d intended studying the books, and he stood and stretched, then took a few minutes to unpack his things. He checked out the bathroom and found it cluttered with Malfoy’s toiletries but otherwise serviceable. Wizard-like in that the fixtures were old-fashioned, and the tub deep and wide with an extra tap or two.

So, there were still a few wizarding luxuries inside Seeker Clan, but were they reserved only for guests and visitors? Did Harry Potter bathe in this bath or suffer through a trickle of a shower in the Muggle bathroom back through the portal?

Leaving his musings for another day, Severus retrieved the wands Ollivander had given him and passed once more through the portal. The flat was quiet save the murmur of voices from one of the bedrooms behind him, but he moved silently to the large room where he’d met the children earlier in the day, knowing Potter would find him here, and set up the stack of wand boxes on the table. He pulled out the book on wand lore he’d found in his bedroom, and settled on the sofa to wait, book in hand.

Potter had been overly optimistic when he’d asked Snape to meet him in an hour. Twenty more minutes had passed before he finally appeared. He looked as tired as Severus felt after a day of more Apparition than he’d done in years, and he supposed raising three children on one’s own wouldn’t leave one with much time for rest and relaxation.

Potter didn’t apologise for being late, but instead pulled out a chair at the table and sat, looking at the wand boxes with an expression Severus couldn’t quite interpret. It wasn’t exactly interest, or distaste, but more like reluctant acceptance. What had Minerva – or Malfoy – said or done to change Harry Potter’s mind?

“They all came from Ollivander,” Severus said as Harry reached for a box. “He has briefed me on each – the wood, the magical core, the flaw that made him hold it back and not offer it for sale.”

Potter had removed the lid from a box and was studying the wand within. 

“We’ll need more wand crafters,” he said softly. “It we’re to survive.”

Severus agreed whole-heartedly, but let the comment go as he took a seat opposite Potter.

“I didn’t expect he’d have so many,” Potter said, opening a second box with a frown. “Are the flaws really as small as they seem?”

“Flaws in the wood grain, or an odd shape or bend,” Severus answered. “When he had so many, he didn’t like offering anything but the best of the best, he said. A few of them have something unusual about the core – a strand of hair from a baby unicorn’s tail in one, which he thought too unproven to use.” He riffled through the boxes and extracted the wand in question and passed it to Potter, who took it and gave it a flick, producing a perfect Lumos.

“I like this one,” he said with a rare smile. He passed the wand back to Severus, and studied the pile of boxes but didn’t touch any of the other wands.

“Twelve,” he said thoughtfully. “Enough to prove the point – or not.”

“Enough to test the hypothesis,” Severus rephrased. 

“We haven’t had much time to put together a plan,” Potter said, “but we have met, and we’ll be following your progress closely. Very closely.”

He met Severus’ eyes as he spoke, and there was no way Severus could have missed the warning there. “You can have mornings alone with the children, but you’ll have a clan member with you after lunch. It’s all or nothing, Snape. I’m sure that’s how you want it. All focus on learning to use the wands. We’ll be going about out of doors as usual – planned outings as always – and we’ll be watching for any incidents. One month, Snape.” He glanced at the wands again and shook his head. “One month.”

Snape nodded. Personally, he thought two weeks would suffice to determine if this plan had more holes than merit.

“They’ll be choosing their wands tomorrow,” he said. “The parents may be present, as that, of course, is the custom in the Wizarding World.”

Potter nodded as if this were a given, though Severus could have said exactly the opposite and he likely wouldn’t have protested.

“I have a few more questions,” Snape said. “Organisational details. How many children? Where will we meet? And what time?”

“8:30 in this room,” Harry answered. “It’s well protected and I’ve added a few extras as we really don’t know what to expect at first. Basic spells only – no sparring or dueling or jinxes of any sorts until we’ve determined that the wands are a go.” He didn’t sound convinced they’d be making that particular go-ahead decision. “And we thought we’d start with six children – my three, Hermione and Ron’s two and Freddy Weasley.’

“And the Longbottom boy?” asked Severus, remembering the young child from earlier in the day.

“He’ll stay with the control group.” Potter leaned back in his chair and regarded Snape silently for a long moment. “The group you’re getting will present enough challenges. They’re all siblings or cousins, they’ve all done accidental magic in public, and they all have very trying parents.”

Severus felt a bit like a babysitter being warned about the little monsters he was about to take on, but he simply nodded. The progeny of Harry Potter, George Weasley and Hermione Granger, all together in one room, was about as frightening of a concept as he’d ever imagined, and he’d played spy to Voldemort and Dumbledore.

“Do you have a plan about the wands?” Potter asked after they sat staring at each other for aa dozen uncomfortable seconds. “How they’ll choose?”

Severus smiled, and this smile was neither sarcastic nor pained, but instead rather genuine and fond.

“You already know that, Mr. Potter,” he answered.

Harry smiled a sad and nostalgic smile as he glanced once more at the boxes.

“The wand chooses the wizard,” he murmured.

“Exactly. We’ll let the wand decide.”


	6. The Wand Chooses

Severus woke to sunshine.

He blinked against the intrusion, vaguely wondering as he sat up and refamiliarized himself with his surroundings when the last time he’d woken to sunshine was. He lived in a nearly invisible safehouse in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, existing in penumbra, rarely interrupted by anything outside of the shadows. To wake and see the sun – actual beams of light crossing the duvet – put him in another place and another time.

He pushed the memory aside and dressed hurriedly. The flat was warm and he’d do better with a quick shower, but a muttered tempus told him it was already after seven, and he wanted a little time to prepare himself and gather his thoughts before the children and their parents arrived. He’d slept fairly well, strange bed notwithstanding, though he’d been awakened by Draco sometime late at night. He’d had the unsettling feeling that Malfoy had been standing in his doorway watching him sleep for some time. What had woken him he couldn’t say, though it was more likely than not that all the years of existing on the edge on top of all those years of spying had heightened his senses to the point that he’d hear a Doxy if it sneezed in the curtains.

“What is it?” he’d said roughly, sitting up, his hand already on his wand.

“Ah – Severus,” Malfoy had drawled, as if someone besides Severus might have been lying in that bed. “Just wanted to thank you,” he’d added smugly.

“Thank me? For what?” Severus had eyed the man suspiciously. He muttered a quiet _Lumos_ and shielded the tip of his wand with a cupped hand, giving him enough light to make out Malfoy’s clothing. He was wearing a t-shirt sporting the Union Jack – the type of clothing a Malfoy would never wear – and a pair of plaid pyjama bottoms. His hair was disheveled, and he smoothed it back with one hand as he continued speaking.

“For some very inspirational sex.” An odd smile crossed his angular face. “You’ve really managed to set him off, Snape. And when he’s frustrated, the sex is spectacular.” He drew the word out, enunciating each syllable, and his fingers idly touched a spot on his neck. While Severus couldn’t see well enough in the shadows to make it out, he knew the marks of Potter’s teeth would be on that clavicle. 

“Go to bed, Malfoy,” he muttered. Merlin – he just wanted to sleep, not be drawn into the sexual exploits of former students. He rolled to his side without further comment and closed his eyes, but he kept his wand at the ready until he heard Malfoy return to his room a long minute or two later.

There was no sign of Malfoy in the morning as Severus dressed, and his bedroom door remained closed. He heard Harry tending to at least one of the children when he passed through the corridor to the kitchen, and paused for a few seconds. Potter sounded tired, trying to remain patient as the child – one of the boys – pleaded with him to hurry. In the kitchen, he found a pot of coffee already made and a kettle and a tea tray set out on the counter beside an untouched copy of the London Times, a bunch of bananas, and a take-out bag of bagels. No Hogwarts breakfast this, but then again, this little school was no Hogwarts. Resolved as he was to do what he must to just get through this day, Severus prepared his tea, picked up a banana and returned to the table in the room where he’d first met the children the day before and stared at the stack of wand boxes, considering.

While he’d all but memorized the cores and woods already, he had no innate sense of which would be appropriate for a given child. He had no idea how Ollivander sized up a child, how he chose the first wand for a child to try. But the old wand maker had given him some insight on how to go after the first. If the child waved the wand and there was nothing – nothing at all – we was to try a wand with a different core. But if there was something – a spark, a pop, a _feeling_ of some sort l, you’ve found a compatible the core but perhaps needed a different wood. It was all terribly nuanced, and Severus hadn’t the time to try to sort it out. He’d come up with a different plan and it would have to work. This wasn’t about giving the children the experience they’d have had had they been able to walk into Ollivander’s shop on Diagon Alley.

There were only a dozen wands after all. They didn’t have the luxury of being too selective. Still, he had a niggling disquiet in the corner of his mind whenever he allowed himself to recall his own trip to Ollivander’s with his mother when he was eleven years old. It _was_ an important day, and the experience – from the ridiculous measuring tape to the deliberation of the old man to the satisfying green sparks he produced from his brand new wand – was one tucked away in the permanent archives of his mind.

He was roused from his thoughts before he’d had time to finish his tea by the early arrival of Ron and Hermione Weasley and their children. Harry’s boys appeared right behind them, and the children, obviously now aware of what this day would soon bring, crowded against the table, eying the boxes and murmuring amongst themselves, obviously accustomed to keeping their voices low. 

Severus didn’t miss the shrieking he’d have expected from children this age though he imagined he’d have had a bit more peace of mind about the entire situation had it materialised.

“It’s true!” breathed Albus Potter in awe. “We _are_ getting wands!” He whispered the word wands very softly, as if terrified of being heard annunciating such a magically-loaded word.

“Of course it’s true. Didn’t Dad just tell us? He wouldn’t make it up,” his brother said.

“Wands are a great responsibility,” said Rose Weasley, to no one in particular. Like her cousins, she too was staring at the long boxes piled pyramid-style in the center of the table.

Ron Weasley, standing behind his wife, nodded at him. He was wearing a pair of oft-laundered khaki trousers, a long-sleeved green button-down and worn brown loafers. With short hair and the air of a man who worked long hours for not enough pay, he seemed Muggle through and through. Severus had a difficult time placing him at Spinner’s End with wife and children, in that run-down Muggle neighborhood with filthy streets and taverns on every corner, no matter how much he looked the part of a downtrodden Muggle. Severus considered the irony of a man who grew up in a lopsided magical house with garden gnomes and a ghoul in the attic passing so easily for a Muggle, but was shaken from his musing when Hermione Granger-Weasley extended her hand to him. 

“I’m willing to give it a go,” Granger-Weasley said. She was studying him curiously but didn’t comment on the long years that had passed since she’d last seen him, or on his appearance, or on anything other than the task at hand. “It’s so ridiculously unwise that it just might work.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” Severus returned. He glared at Jamie Potter, whose hand had ventured a bit too close to the wands.

Granger-Weasley smiled. “Oh, please, Professor. You have to admit it’s rather unconventional – equipping small children with fully functional wands.”

“It’s brilliant.”

George Weasley and his wife and son had arrived. This Weasley looked nearly as Muggle as his brother, though his hair was longer to cover his missing ear. He shook Severus’ hand more aggressively than he needed to and continued wistfully. “What I would have given to have a wand before Hogwarts. Nicked Charlie’s once or twice, of course – Percy kept his under lock and key all summer.”

The retort on Severus’ lips died with the arrival of Harry Potter, his daughter at his side. She looked up at him and tugged at his hand softly when she saw her cousins, and when he nodded at her silent plea and released her hand, she hurried over to join them by the table. Severus saw her look back at Harry cautiously before leaning forward to stare at the boxes.

“Children – places, please,” Potter instructed, and the children immediately pushed away from the table and went directly to a rack against the wall, pulling cushions from cubbyholes. They arranged them in a circle on the floor and sat down, cross-legged and quiet.

Severus tried to pull himself into his once-familiar classroom persona as he surveyed the children, then their parents, who remained standing near the table. This venue wasn’t what he had had in mind – not at all. Classroom desks. Orderly rows. A chalkboard for notes. A respectable distance between students and teacher. He was far too old to sit comfortably on the floor but as Potter was unlikely to consent to him conjuring a classroom with all its accoutrements, this would have to do.

He frowned at the floor with its inexpensive and unsubstantial carpet, then sighed and looked up. “Parents, you will join the circle as well. Leave a gap for me, please.”

He caught a curious glance from Potter, and he realised the Severus Snape Potter had known would never have added “please” to that request. 

There was more than one raised eyebrow as the five adults settled down with the children.

“Don’t recall doing this at Ollivander’s,” muttered George Weasley. “Mum would never have sat cross-legged on that floor – not without giving it a good scrubbing first, anyway.”

Severus looked over at Potter, who’d seated himself between his sons without a word of protest. Ron Weasley was fidgeting with a loose thread on his shirt, perhaps having flashbacks to his Hogwarts Potions classes, and Granger, seated between her daughter and her son, let her clear-eyed, curious gaze settle on Severus.

He cleared his throat.

“We have a phrase in our world,” he began. “The wand chooses the wizard. Can anyone guess what that means?”

Rose Weasley’s hand shot up as quickly as her mother’s ever had at Hogwarts.

Severus bit back an amused smile. “Yes, Miss Weasley?”

“Actually, I’ve no idea,” she answered apologetically, tucking her hand under her thigh as if to prevent it from sailing up in the air again. She glanced around the circle but none of the other children seemed about to volunteer an answer. “But I suppose it could mean that the wand picks which wizard it wants and not the other way ‘round?”

“Is that your answer or are you asking me a question?” Severus asked.

The child frowned in thought. “That’s my guess,” she clarified. “You asked if anyone could _guess_ what it means.”

He stared at the child, but she obviously was immune to the heart-stopping stare of the dreaded Potions professor Like the other children, she might be afraid and largely ignorant of the magical world, but her inner Hermione Granger was stronger than that fear. She stared right back. “Am I right?” she asked, bouncing a bit but keeping her hand tucked under her leg.

He eyed her another long moment for effect. Though he’d not been in the classroom for years, he hadn’t forgotten how important it was to make a decisive first impression on his students. “Your guess is correct.” His gaze shifted to Fred Weasley, who was trying to touch his nose with the tip of his tongue.

“Excuse me – Mr. Snape, sir.” Hugo Weasley was waving his arm in the air with almost as much gusto as his sister had, though he spoke so quietly Severus could hardly hear him. Severus sighed. He supposed the child’s outward exuberance was more reassuring than Fred Weasley’s facial calisthenics, even though he seemed nervous voicing his question.

“Yes, Mr. Weasley?”

Once acknowledged, the child immediately dropped his hand into his lap. He looked immensely relieved.

“How does it know?” he asked, voice barely audible.

Severus pursed his lips. The children were all staring at him now. Freddy Weasley’s tongue was back where it belonged.

“The magic in the wand reaches out to the witch or wizard who wields it,” he began. He’d not given much thought to the wand selection process since he was an eleven-year old himself. “Or more precisely – the wand’s magic reaches out to the magic inside that witch or wizard. If it finds a good match – if it’s _compatible_ \- it will let you know that you, in fact, are the one.”

Freddy Weasley’s hand was in the air now, opposite shoulder lowered so the raised hand appeared to reach even higher. 

Severus nodded at Freddy. “Your question, Mr. Weasley?”

“How does the wand let you know? Does it send a letter by post?”

Severus had more than a sneaking suspicion that this child would test his patience every day.

“Is it your theory, Mr. Weasley, that a wizard’s wand writes a letter and sends it by Muggle post to advise said wizard that it has chosen him?”

“It’s my _guess_ ,” clarified Freddy, shooting his cousin Rose a smirk.

Severus shook his head. “You’ll know soon enough,” he said, reaching behind him for the stack of wand boxes, which he placed in front of him in a neat pile.

“A wand helps a witch control her magic. Instead of your magic being wild and untamed when you are upset or frightened or excited, your wand will allow you to concentrate your magic – to control it – and later, with training and experience, to _focus_ it into a simple spell.” It wasn’t brewing fame or bottling glory, but he did have the children’s undivided attention. “Remember – your wand chooses you. It knows you intimately, and your magic as well, and is a very useful tool. But it’s a magical tool, and while you must always have your wand with you, you must never let it be seen by anyone outside of your clan.”

And without further discussion, he opened the top box and extracted a rather plain looking wand of medium blonde wood. 

Everyone – children and adults alike – stared. Wands, Severus realised, were not casually taken from boxes or removed from pockets in the Seeker Clan’s world.

“Nine and three quarter inches,” he began solemnly. “Ash. The core is a strand of hair from the mane of a male unicorn.”

Rose Weasley’s hand shot up yet again.

“Excuse me but unicorns aren’t real,” she stated emphatically, glancing at her mother in imagined satisfied solidarity.

Severus leveled his gaze at the child’s parents then slowly raised an eyebrow. Ron Weasley’s expression darkened but Hermione simply raised an eyebrow in return.

“We haven’t begun magical creatures,” Hermione explained unapologetically. 

Severus blinked. Rose Weasley stared at her mother.

“They _are_ real?” she whispered.

“’Course they’re real,” said James Potter. “Just like Uncle Charlie’s dragons.”

Potter looked at the child sharply. In fact, _all_ of the adults were looking at him suspiciously. Al and Lily Potter’s mouths dropped open.

“Care to explain, young man?” Potter asked casually, but Severus saw his face harden and knew this was no small thing.

Jamie squirmed, looking at the floor. “I heard you talking to him about it,” he admitted gruffly. “I figured you wouldn’t be making up stories.” He looked up then, defiant. “Besides, he has _burns_.”

“Your uncle and I were talking privately, in the kitchen, well past midnight. You were asleep in your room.”

“I had to get up to use the loo and I heard his voice,” Jamie whispered.

Severus stepped in. Potter could reprimand his child later – and in private.

“Unicorns are real. There are a small number of them still in the Forbidden Forest near Hogwarts. Unicorn mane or tail hairs are frequently used as wand cores. A core is the inside of the wand, the most magical part. It is surrounded by wood – usually the wood of a specific tree or bush that has other magical properties of its own.” He held up the wand again, though every eye was still on it. “This particular wand is made of ash.”

Rose’s hand was in the air again. Severus raised an eyebrow. “The wood of an ash tree, Miss Weasley.”

She pulled her hand back down, mouthing a quiet “oh.”

“Please watch carefully.”

He picked up the wand. He barely felt its presence – unicorn hair had never worked well for him though he supposed he could produce a few sparks at the very least.

He drew a Z in the air with the wand, and it sputtered out a stream of fat purple sparks.

“I think it’s broken,” whispered Lily Potter, eyes wide.

“Not broken,” clarified her father. “Though it’s clearly not the right wand for Professor Snape.”

“But how do you _know_?” insisted Al.

Severus half expected Potter to explain that wands with unicorn hair cores were virtually useless for the Dark Arts but Potter did little more than stare at him.

“To answer that, I’m going to pass the wand around and everyone will have a turn with it,” Severus directed. “And by everyone, I mean children and parents alike.”

Angelina Johnson-Weasley was seated beside him, and he passed the wand to her without further ado, demonstrating the correct technique so that the wand was never pointed at either of them. She smiled as she gripped the handle, and he knew it must certainly suit her better than it did him. All eyes were on her as she gave it a quick flourish, and the tip lit up as a big blue butterfly emerged, fluttered dramatically in front of her face for a second or two, then flew above their heads.

“It likes you!” exclaimed Freddy, eyes wide.

“I made a dozen when I tried my wand the first time,” she told him with a nostalgic smile as they watched the delicate creature alight on a lampshade. “My wand has a unicorn hair core too.”

She passed the wand carefully to her son, who held it as if it were about to explode, reluctant to move lest the entire room go up in flames. He had the undivided attention of each of his cousins.

“Give it a gentle shake, love,” Angelina instructed.

He nodded jerkily, then jabbed the tip of the wand forward and pulled it back. A tiny red fireball, bright as a comet, shot out.

“You did it!” exclaimed Albus as several of the children clapped.

Freddy, mouth still agape, hastily picked up the wand, which he’d dropped when he’d produced the fireball.

They continued around the circle. The wand did absolutely nothing for James Potter, which frustrated him so much his father had to lay a hand on his shoulder to calm him, and did nothing save quiver a bit for Al. Lily got a bit of blue smoke, which delighted her immensely, and Hugo an iridescent bubble that bobbed lazily about above their heads to their wide-eyed wonder. The adults all had varying degrees of success with it, with Ron the obvious best match, producing - to the children’s delight – a shower of leprechaun gold. They dove forward to scoop it up, grinning and laughing, and Severus did not miss Ron Weasley, careworn face bright with a smile, wipe a tear from his cheek as Harry Potter flashed him a grin.

Laughter. 

How could it have come to this point? That laughter was so rare in their world that it could bring a parent to tears?

When they’d scooped up the gold, and Ron had explained that it would soon disappear, Rose proved to have the best luck of all the children with the ash wand. She waved it like a conductor’s baton, and they all dove for cover as a dozen fat bumblebees erupted from the end and buzzed busily around their heads.

Severus banished the bees and wrote Rose’s initials on the box while the children watched him curiously.

“Is that one for Rose, then?” asked Hugo. “Are the rest of us supposed to get bees from our wands?”

“We are just beginning,” Severus explained. He was pleased with the progress so far. “Each of you will handle each wand. After you’ve all had a chance with all twelve, you’ll try each wand that suited you again.”

He paid careful attention as the wands made their way around the circle. He gave less importance to what the child managed to produce with the wand than to the look on their faces as they lifted each new wand and gave it a wave. Awe and wonder. Peace. Tranquility. Laughter. Joy. 

It was a good look on these children – and even more so on their parents.

He noted, in particular, that the children watched the adults just as carefully as they watched each other. He reminded himself that for these children, seeing their parents use magic was a rarity. That these children didn’t aspire to go to Hogwarts, didn’t count the days until their Hogwarts letters came, and had never even been to Diagon Alley, exclaimed over the owls at Eeylops or asked their parents when they’d be old enough to fly on a broom.

He couldn’t help but remember his own mother, how he’d watch her use her wand to cook or to brew household potions. How they’d travel by Floo to the Leaky Cauldron. How she’d take him by the hand and lead him through Diagon Alley as they did their shopping, and on rare occasions, stop for an ice cream at Fortescue’s.

How ironic, he thought, that he thought his own childhood experience with magic – loved by his mother, reviled by his father –infinitely better than what these children were experiencing.

It took quite some time to pass all twelve wands around, and quite a bit more to locate and banish all the birds, bees, beetles and butterflies. But when the last beetle had been found and relocated to a nearby park, Severus placed the twelve wand boxes in the center of the circle. He selected three of them and placed them before Freddy Weasley.

“Mr. Weasley – these three wands showed a preference for you and your magic. Lift each one carefully, hold it for a moment, then replace it in its box,” he instructed gravely. 

Freddy did as told, and when he’d carefully placed the last wand – maple, dragon heartstring, 10 ½” – back in its box, he looked up at Severus, who simply raised an eyebrow.

“This one,” the child said, pointing to the first wand, then looking up at Severus again to see what came next.

It was an odd wand – dogwood, a long thirteen inches, with a unicorn tail hair core. It hadn’t been on anyone else’s shortlist, and Severus had hoped it would choose Freddy. Its only apparent flaw was an odd knob near the base of the wand that gave it a slightly unbalanced appearance.

“Pick it up carefully – always by the handle,” Severus instructed. “Place it on the floor before you.”

Freddy eagerly grasped the wand, which immediately emitted a few wisps of purple smoke.

“How do I turn it off?” Freddy asked, quite serious and a little dismayed. “I don’t want to waste it.”

His father and mother exchanged a puzzled look, but James, the oldest child and self-appointed magical expert among the children, sighed.

“It doesn’t have a switch, if that’s what you mean,” he said. 

“Just place it on the floor,” Severus instructed, trying to wrap his head around the thought of a magical child looking for a wand’s off switch. “Rest your hand on it if you’d like. You will become accustomed to it with time.” 

He removed the other two wands, stacked them with the others, and turned his eyes back on Freddy, whose small hand covered the end of the wand on the floor in front of him and whose face held a look of utmost concentration. This, he reminded himself, was the child who’d been trying to touch his nose with his tongue not very long before.

“One more flourish, then we move on,” Severus said, nodding at the child.

Freddy, with what had to be feigned confidence, gave the wand an experimental wave and a shower of green sparks vaguely reminiscent of his namesake’s magical fireworks shot nearly to the ceiling.

“Cool!” breathed Al, looking longingly at the pile of unclaimed wand boxes.

But Al would have to wait as James was next and he had four potential wands to try. He vacillated between two of them at the end, and Severus quieted the restless children, all wanting their own turn, until he was confident that the willow wand with an intricate spiral detail and unicorn tail hair core was the one. At Snape’s go ahead, he swept it out in front of him and the wand sang with a delightful tune like wind through a willow tree. Severus caught Potter staring at his child’s rapt face, saw him blink several times and finally school his face into a neutral expression.

Four more children and ten wands. Lily took her time choosing, though it was obvious to all of the adults in the room that the proper wand – the one that suited her best – was a stout yew creation but that her eyes – if not her heart and her magic – were on a more slender, delicate one of a light cream colour. 

Harry caught Snape’s eye, conveying his “I told you so” without words. 

“I recall that her mother’s wand was the colour of yew,” Severus chanced when the minutes ticked by and her hand hovered again over the ash.

“It was,” George quickly affirmed. “Ginny’s wand was made of yew.” He sighed and squeezed his wife’s hand. “You wouldn’t believe the hexes she could hurl at us with it!”

“I’m sure you deserved every one,” Angelina replied, as Lily’s large brown eyes widened even further. She stared at her uncle, then at her father. Her hand drifted back to the yew wand and finally closed over it definitively. She smiled triumphantly as Severus removed the other boxes.

The rest of the children together took less time than Lily had. Al’s wand was the only one with a phoenix feather core, and Rose’s a supple wand of willow with the unicorn foal mane hair. Hugo’s wood matched Rose’s – though it’s core was a length of dragon heartstring.

He allowed the children a few minutes to show off their wands to their parents, and escaped to the kitchen for a much needed glass of water. He was still filling his glass when Potter appeared, empty mug in hand.

“Well, the easy part is over,” Potter commented as he poured himself a cup of coffee. He leaned against the counter. “Draco and I have an errand to run, and the others have been instructed to leave you for two hours. Hermione will be back to help with lunch, and she and George will be observing this afternoon.”

“I think it went well,” Severus said, not commenting on the errand or the afternoon plans. “They all have serviceable wands that seem to suit them.”

“I tried out dozens,” Harry said. He smiled, but there was no joy in his eyes. “Or it seemed like it, at least. I had no idea what to expect.”

“You were a special case, Mr. Potter. We’re lucky that Ollivander recognized that.”

Potter scoffed. “It was like Christmas for him. He got more and more excited with every new wand he pulled down for me.” He took a bracing drink of his coffee, frowned at it in apparent disappointment, then looked up at Severus again.

“What about you, then. How many did you have to try?”

“Five or six,” Severus responded with a shrug. “Apparently, I’m a much easier read than you, Mr. Potter.”

Harry stared at him long and hard, until Severus grew almost uncomfortable under the scrutiny. The eyes that had once reminded Severus so achingly of Lily Potter were similar now only in colour. While he’d never been the recipient of a warm look from Potter to rival those of his mother, he had seen passion in those eyes, and fear, and cussed determination. But the inner fire was cold now, the look calculating, intense but closed.

Finally, Potter shook his head. 

“No you’re not,” he said with the hint of a smile, a tiny spark to those guarded eyes. He pushed away from the counter, dumped his coffee into the sink, and turned back to Severus. “Look – I’m….”

“Ready, Harry? Oh – good morning, Severus.” 

Malfoy had appeared at the door, and he gave Harry a smile and a rather appreciative look, then straightened his necktie. 

“Yeah – just give me a minute. I’ll get my jacket.”

Potter left without another word, and Severus set his glass on the counter and nodded at Malfoy as he moved to return to the children.

“Thanks for babysitting, Severus,” Malfoy said to his back, just loud enough for him to hear.

Severus let the words roll off of him as he returned to organise the children for their first lessons. This Draco Malfoy he understood, and could ignore much more easily than the odd version of Malfoy that had accosted him the day before.

 _One month_ , he told himself as he drew a chair over to the circle and sat down. He watched the last of the parents leave as the children settled in, each gripping an identical wand box. One month, six children, and possibly the future of the wizarding world in Europe. 

“Take out your wands,” he said for the first of many times to come. 

He was inordinately grateful that the parents were gone now and wouldn’t witness the exercise he was about to lead. He was a Potions Master, hard and strict, a rule maker, not the sort to lead a child through guided meditation to help them tune out the outside world and get in touch with their inner witch or wizard. But there was nowhere to begin but at the beginning.

“Place your wand on the floor and cover it with one hand. Now close your eyes and be very, very still….”

He didn’t see Harry Potter watching silently from the shadows of the doorway. Didn’t see him close his own eyes as the tension melted – for but a moment – from his hard and careworn face.


End file.
